Titanium Hawkeye
by PeechTao
Summary: FINAL CHAPTER! When Clint's quest to escape boredom has him pushing Pepper off the roof, Tony decides to take him for a night out. But not all is as it seems when Stark and the others are kidnapped, leaving Clint and Banner to go to their rescue. Regardless of internal bleeding or being drunk. Clint/team whump, madness, and smashing involved. Clintasha for my fans:
1. Prologue

**Author Note: **Well, here it is, much anticipated sequalish to my Lithium Hawkeye book. Fans of that book may be surprised by the new format which will include few cliffhangers, although less action as well. Whump will ensue and I do my part to stay true to all the characters as always. this is VERY long, a complete 35,000 words or so pre-editing. maybe more. please enjoy!

**Disclaimor:** I did not come up with Tony's fear of water, but i much appreciate its suggestion in my mind by others! so i roll with it. Also, Clint's personal fear I do take credit for. All else belongs to Marvel. Darn you Marvel. . .

**Summery:** Clint, recovering from the events of a plane crash, finds himself trapped in Stark Tower with a hard case of Boredom. When his quest to escape has him pushing Pepper off the roof, Tony decides to take him for a night out. But not all is as it seems when Stark and the others are kidnapped, leaving Clint and Banner to go to their rescue. Regardless of bleeding internally or being drunk when they do it!

**Titanium Hawkeye**

_I'm bulletproof, _

_nothing to lose_

_fire away, fire away_

_ricochet, _

_you take your aim_

_fire away, fire away_

_you shoot me down, _

_but I won't fall_

_I am titanium_

_you shoot me down, _

_but I won't fall_

_I am titanium_

* * *

_**Prologue**_

"Don't freak out." Clint whispered.

Bruce flashed green, his hands turned to fists. But he remained calm. "Bruce Banner, Hulk, Avenger, scientist . . ." he began to mouth to himself. Clint waited. It was the same technique he used to keep his own mind from shattering to pieces.

"Say it." Bruce commanded. His voice was deeper with more of a growl behind it.

"Sure you want—"

Bruce's eyes snapped open. They had gone from the simple geeky-science-nerd to a hard and deathly black. Clint figured it was going to be a bad idea to share any intimate details, so he tried to keep it simple to hold the Hulk in a little longer.

The fate of the world should never be left in his hands. Maybe Tony Stark's, possibly even Thor's, but never his. There was a certain level of responsibility that comes from having every living creature in the room relying on you to make that right call that causes another being's head to possibly implode. Clint Barton did not feel like having so much at stake resting on only his shoulders. He was in a place out of reach, beyond help, and had all of 3.5 seconds to make the _right_ call. No Coulson was there to guide him. No SHIELD operatives took up his place to bark in his ear the word he desperately searched for. So he had to make that choice himself.

He whispered and told the truth. "They're running him under a faucet." He half lied. In actuality, the unknown men down there had Tony on his back with a soaked towel over his face as they let all of New York Bay pour over his mouth and nose. It was easily Stark's worse fear.

Bruce was not one to glaze over facts. Stark was as close a friend to the scientist as he was to Clint. "They're water boarding him?"

Clint swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed as he weighed what the result of his answer might be. No use in keeping it from the guy when he could just stand up and look for himself. "Uh, yes. They ARE—"

His final word rose from the whisper he first intended on to an exclamation of fear. If there was one guy the secret agents should have nabbed first, it was Bruce Banner. Clint could be knocked out. Natasha could be locked up. Tony could be water boarded. The Captain could be shot (a few thousand times). And Thor . . . well whatever they did to him was special or magical, or whatever the Hell it was.

None of that shined a light to what they _should_ have done to Bruce Banner. Or, more importantly, what they should have done to the Incredible Hulk. Clint didn't want the part-time doctor going green so quick. Barton wanted the opportunity to snipe a few guys first and even the odds a little. Or maybe get a better idea of what they were up against to begin with. But that was nowhere on the Hulk's agenda. He knew one thing and one thing alone.

Smash.

* * *

please continue to the next "chapter"

Don't forget to review, or else you don't pass go or collect $200


	2. 3:06 AM

**Author Note: **Here's chapter 2 for you

**Disclaimor:** I did not come up with Tony's fear of water, but i much appreciate its suggestion in my mind by others! so i roll with it. Also, Clint's personal fear I do take credit for. All else belongs to Marvel. Darn you Marvel. . .

**Summery:** Clint, recovering from the events of a plane crash, finds himself trapped in Stark Tower with a hard case of Boredom. When his quest to escape has him pushing Pepper off the roof, Tony decides to take him for a night out. But not all is as it seems when Stark and the others are kidnapped, leaving Clint and Banner to go to their rescue. Regardless of bleeding internally or being drunk when they do it!

* * *

**Titanium Hawkeye**

_**The morning before, 3:06 AM**_

Thoughts were hard to come by, in fact, they were darned near unattainable. The last place he was staying was in his room, and the first place he thought to escape to was locked. So, every level that held even a remote interest to his need to hide was off limits. That left Clint Barton with three options: stay in his room under full surveillance, stay in his room and spray paint JARVIS'S monitors with a mixture of chocolate syrup and Pam, or find some other place to squat. He attempted the second with mixed, almost toxically overpowering results. Not to mention he fell off a chair and bashed himself sideways on a dresser drawer. After suffering in silence for a few minutes, he gave up and settled on the next- less dangerous- escape approach. At 3 AM he had limited places to take off to. The windows were sealed; the tower's AI wouldn't let him below the 89th floor no matter how he begged.

Television was the resultant pick.

Parked on the oversized couch with a bowl full of pecans, popcorn, and applesauce, Clint settled in for whatever the early morning channels would have to offer. It was surprisingly slim pickings. NCIS was ridiculously overrated, BONES was somewhat interesting, but his favorite was some show called The Unusuals. He sat up through the first four episodes in a row, and then passed out with a stolen bag of Ritz crackers mixed in his cup of yogurt half way through the fifth. A smile was on his lips, a can of easy cheese leaked orange onto the carpet by his feet.

* * *

again, please continue reading


	3. 7:23 AM

**Author Note: **THIS HAS NOT BEEN EDITTED YET! So please do not complain. I will be getting to it at a more reasonable time of the day then right now.

**Disclaimor:** I did not come up with Tony's fear of water, but i much appreciate its suggestion in my mind by others! so i roll with it. Also, Clint's personal fear I do take credit for. All else belongs to Marvel. Darn you Marvel. . .

**Summery:** Clint, recovering from the events of a plane crash, finds himself trapped in Stark Tower with a hard case of Boredom. When his quest to escape has him pushing Pepper off the roof, Tony decides to take him for a night out. But not all is as it seems when Stark and the others are kidnapped, leaving Clint and Banner to go to their rescue. Regardless of bleeding internally or being drunk when they do it!

* * *

**Titanium Hawkeye**

_**7:23 AM**_

"Oh. My. God." Stark exclaimed, taking in the scene playing out in front of him. "Wow, they really captured the heart of you, I mean, it hits me right here."

Tony was sitting in the recliner by Clint's head. He had the bowl of pecans in his lap and was picking them out around the stale popcorn and globs of applesauce. From the appearance of the common kitchen this morning it was obvious Clint had gotten out of his room and gone on a bender of some sort. There was still a bottle of Hershey syrup missing someplace and JARVIS tried to explain something complicated but the result being it was in Clint's room. With a bottle of Pam. And the cameras were blacked out. And Natasha was missing from her room this morning as well.

Tony made himself a mental note to imagine how that little bedtime romp played out. In the meantime he had found Clint passed out, likely from exhaustion, on the couch with the TV running. It was impossible to tell what he had started out watching but the show on now was enough to pull Tony up short, then sit down and watch in utter curiosity. After it was obvious the show was running for the next two hours, and he was not about to pull himself away, he settled in with Clint's discarded, though peculiar, snack and let the television suck him in.

He had almost forgotten Hawkeye's presence entirely. However, a particularly awesome moment arose in the Saturday morning cartoon that had Tony struggling on the end of hysterics. Clint was thrust awake, then hissed and cursed as he held his side together in sudden agony.

"Oh, hey, sorry. Forgot your wings were clipped, hey you have to see this, and they got you looking good. And I never saw myself as the leadership sort of guy, but what the heck? It's my toys after all. They got Fury perfect."

Clint squeezed his eyes a little tighter, trying to decide whether his side was happier rolling over and going back to sleep or waking up and having a conversation with Stark. When his eye cracked open to the sound of his name by some strange voice, his fate was sealed. He was getting up.

"What in the world are you watching?" Clint asked, not wanting the answer, not really.

Well, maybe a little piece of him did. Because right now he was watching a cartoonized, purple masked, version of Clint Barton storming across the flat screen with a recurve bow and getting his head bashed in by some sultry red head that could only be Black Widow.

"Life-like isn't it? Gosh I think that's what she did to you two weeks ago, do you remember? For sneaking onto the gym level?" Tony jeered, obviously enjoying the demonstration of improbable skill.

"I said what the Hell are you watching?" Hawkeye repeated, already pushed up into a relatively sitting position. His back was killing him from sleeping on the couch (or falling on a dresser), and his stomach didn't feel all that appreciative of the pretty-near-pregnant binge he went on.

Tony smiled. "Actually, the first time you asked you didn't curse at me."

"And the first time I asked, you didn't answer me. Or the second time."

The two watched as cartoon Clint was left in a jumbled heap by cartoon Natasha who'd managed to escape a burning warehouse. Not a short scene later, cartoon Clint was being chased down by Captain America on his motorcycle and some guy dressed like a black panther.

"What do you got against me?" Clint couldn't help but ask.

"Uh, you're like a bad guy. This is halfway true. You are pretty glummy. And apparently Lady Killer sold you up the river to this crazy undead guy who sucks your soul dry or something like that. We totally have our own cartoon, dude." Tony was almost oozing excitement from his pores as he said it. He shoved a handful of pecans in his mouth and sat grinding them around as he watched, transfixed.

"I would never wear that much purple." Clint felt the need to point out

"Yeah but we should totally get you you're own pointy cowl to wear around with us. I do think the skirt is a little much, even for you. But if that's your thing, man . . ." Tony replied, grinning as if the plans were already crossing the etch-a-sketch in his brain.

"Don't make me stick your head in the kitchen sink." Clint warned.

"Do I need to call psych and tell them about your brother issues?"

The two shared a minor challenging glance before they knew it was obvious neither was going to be exploiting the other's deep seated phobias. They smiled.

"Gimme a handful of that." Clint ordered, his hand held out in the space between them.

Tony pushed the bowl to him, Clint grabbed his share out, and the two sat and watched their alter egos storm through an evil egg headed baddy's house. They laughed in unison when it was Thor who lit the guy up and the Hulk who thrust him through four sequential walls. Their passion died out a little as the episode puttered to an end. Then they reclaimed their excitement when a new one started up.

Before long the various other tower members were set on getting around too. Bruce was the first to make an appearance. He was holding a cup of coffee, given to him by Elsa who was off trying to straighten the kitchen wreckage Banner wasn't even allowed near. At the sight of Tony and Clint laughing beside each other and tearing apart a show the two of them were watching, Bruce didn't find himself able to keep his distance. He approached somewhat meekly, not wanting to get in between Clint and Tony's obviously blossoming friendship. It was good for them, to have somebody outside their own circles to interact with especially after the ordeal they went through only weeks ago. But before he knew it, Banner was being roped in anyway.

"Bruce, crap, you've got to sit and watch this. Just toss Pie-eye to the floor." Tony said instantly.

Clint, in response, just sat up a little more, pulling his legs up to his chest to give Bruce a spot on the opposite end of the couch. Bruce sat with some trepidation, unsure of what he may have just gotten himself into.

The first thing that stood out to him was the obvious lack of any healthy food within a forty foot radius. He didn't know what concoction of slimy popcorn was entering Clint's mouth but he wasn't sure he even wanted to know. Then there was the cheese can by his foot. That was something he had trouble getting his head to wrap around, especially given there was nothing obvious the cheese was placed on- like a cracker. He wondered which one of the guys was just squirting into his mouth all night and gave himself a temporary reminder to not eat any of the food.

"So, you guys have a night up or something?" Banner asked with some apprehension.

"No, just him. I found him passed out with Jerry Springer in the background and then this came on. Oh, and I never knew your inner voice of calm was like a twenty year old hippy with rocker hair."

Before Bruce could ask what the billionaire was talking about, said inner Bruce Banner was on full display of the Avengers' Saturday cartoon. Tony wasn't far off, the guy did look like a 60s era hipster with one too many special brownies in his system. Banner found himself transfixed by his alter form chatting via mirror with the Hulk. He wondered if his life would work so easily, but swiftly dismissed the errant thought. He opened his mouth to say something, but it just hung open instead, unsure of how he should respond to the show.

"Oh, there I am. I have to say, I love the suit within a suit, but frankly it's a little pointless. Besides, the best part is that I am the head honcho, and that's just plane-holy crap there's Thor, bwahahahaha!"

As both Tony and Clint went into another round of hysterics and Banner covered his own shock and horror behind his hands, in walked the forth and fifth additions to the breakfast troop. Both Thor and Natasha entered the room. The normally non coffee drinking Romanov was carrying a mug and Thor had little more then a pair of barely there boxers and of course his hammer. Thor was the first to come up short, his attention riveted on the magical box with a figure of his likeness in heated battle with other strangely colorful beings.

Natasha was seemingly unaffected by the show. She walked over, perched on the sofa arm beside Clint's head and handed him the coffee cup. It could have been poisoned, but he took it without question. From her, he always would. Following the cup, she held out her balled fist. He opened a hand beneath it and allowed her to drop six or seven pills into it. He threw them in his mouth without even looking and swallowed a mouthful of coffee to get them down. Natasha's hand went to his shoulders as it slowly kneaded away a knot he didn't realize was even there.

That was the extent of their conversation. No "Good morning, how did you sleep," or "You look ravishing in leather in the morning," Just her feeding him all the meds the doctors kept shoving down him and bringing his typical cup of coffee. If the other's noticed this was a daily occurrence, they never said so.

"What be this mystical creation of color?" Thor asked, intrigued beyond words as he watched his likeness summon all the sky thunder available to cartoon animators and decimated four rather nasty looking beasties. "And why does he hold the power of Odin in his hand?" Thor dropped to sit down perhaps seven inches from the big LCD screen. His hammer made a sizable crack in the floor tile beside him. That made Tony cringe. He wanted to say something snarky about it, but he held his tongue in an unusual show of self restraint. He was too interested in watching the Asgardian's reaction to interrupt with a quibble.

_My, that was a grown up decision_, he mused.

"It's an alternate reality in which we have been miniaturized and broadcast throughout the realms for general entertainment." Clint said.

Natasha looked at him with her eyebrow raised. "That's mean."

"It's simply amazing!" Thor went on, transfixed. "To think, another creation like me exists, even in so strangely colored a world as that."

Tony snorted. Banner shook his head. Clint was holding his side in hopes his damaged rib didn't split in half.

"I must say he looks like a great warrior with so much hair covering his face. Perhaps I shall take some lessons from this strange brother."

Natasha was a little more realistic. "For crying out loud, it's a Saturday cartoon. It's not real; some bozo came up with it to entertain kids."

Thor looked at her as if his entire world suddenly collapsed. His eyebrows creased, his shoulders somehow found the way to slouch, and his body physically seemed to sink in on itself. So this was disappointed Thor. "Ah, I have heard of these strange entertainment ploys of humankind."

Both Tony and Clint shot Natasha a disapproving glance.

"Now what'd you go and ruin that for?" Tony blasted at her. "You broke Thor."

"You're the one putting stupid ideas in his head." Natasha shot back, undaunted. "And by the way, teaching him that the F word is a way of saying hello in Russian is wrong on a whole other level."

"Hey, can't blame me for that one, he picked it up from Banner."

Bruce snorted, but restrained the remainder of his laughter.

"What on Earth are you watching?"

The five bodies turned to welcome the newest member to the Saturday morning party, Steve Rogers. He was dressed in simple slacks and his white t-shirt. Most of him was sweating in one way or another. It was almost eight in the morning now, so Tony extrapolated he'd probably been in the gym for three or four hours already. That was enough to work up any appetite.

Their unofficial leader stood over the back of the sofa, looking at the screen he'd never gotten used to enough to actually play with. He was more of a bookworm. Even the digital displays in Banner's lab gave his eyes fits and threatened to bring a migraine around. Now with the surround sound blaring about four dozen explosions and the fifty-some-odd inch flat screen television switching from one cartoon Avenger to another, Steve couldn't help _not_ to watch.

"They got your suit pretty good, Steve." Banner announced. It was his way of inviting Captain America into the strange bonding moment the team was having.

"Yeah, with one glaring exception. I'm team leader. Which I kind of like the idea of. Can we try that out ourselves for like, the next month and see how it goes?" Stark was chomping on pecans and talking at the same time. His question wasn't even meant as a joke.

But everyone laughed anyway.

"But, I don't get . . . I . . ." Steve stood there with his head cocked to one side as he watched the screen. Captain America was rumbling his motorcycle across about thirteen city roofs and down a sheer wall before taking out five or six space-age aliens in a single swoop. Then he was at them with his shield with the other four Avengers beside him. It was glaringly obvious who was missing after he did a quick on-screen head count.

"What, no Natasha?" Steve asked.

Clint snickered.

Natasha stiffened a little. She had come in after her character already rolled off into the sunset. She had been wondering the exact same question but was a little too mature to ask it out right. What did she care why her character wasn't included and some other primpy version of Agent Bobbi Morse had her hands all over Clint instead? And she called herself the Mockingbird. _Really_? Was that the best she could come up with? Natasha felt her jaw muscles tense and her need to show Agent Morse a piece of her mind became a more and more irrational thought.

"Yeah, apparently Tasha sold me out to some other bad guy and is playing the double-Russian-agent card to the max. So I've been given Bobbie in a skimpy suit to feign a love interest." Clint grinned. "Never thought of Bobbie as a blond. She's a brunette, isn't she?"

_Bobbie. He called her Bobbie. When did they get so first-name-basis? She wasn't even around when the Helicarrier got hit! She didn't even visit when Clint was in recovery! _Privately Natasha was fuming, but beside a simple twinge in her lips, and a hand pressing a little bit harder against Clint's sore shoulder's no one was the wiser.

"No, she's a blond. Remember when she came by to debrief us after the Chitari thing? You asked if she wanted any Shwarma and she said you looked cute covered in alien blood." Tony was going on over Natasha's private thoughts.

Clint finely recalled the scene. "Oh yeah, you're right. You know, she was the one who busted me out of Iran once. That was one mission screwed from the start. I wonder what she's up to—"

That was it!

Natasha grabbed the back of Clint's neck right where his spine flowed down into the flesh of his shoulders. She squeezed hard, eliciting a paralytic spasm that had him gasping.

"You better not be thinking of her at all or I'll give you something to take your mind off it for good." Black Widow whispered. Her voice was pure venom.

Tony felt like he crapped his pants _for_ Clint. He knew the agents had been together for a while. Maybe they were even born in the same crib and given the same SHIELD slop to eat for the past twenty years. He imagined a romantic relationship had sprung up between the two of them, but when two assassins are in a relationship, romantic is not exactly the word he would go for first. Volatile? Now that was more appropriate.

"Oh, that reminds me." Tony said, in an effort to get Black Widow to extract her fangs from his friend's neck before she drained him dry like a succubus. "I don't mind if you kids use my chocolate sauce and non-stick spray in the middle of the night, just don't make a mess and return them when you're done."

Thor, having no idea what any of those words meant, continued to watch himself on television. Banner held a hand to his mouth in shock but did everything he could not to say a word. Steve at first wanted to call Natasha off, but the minute Tony opened his mouth Steve's jaw hit the floor.

"What the Hell are you talking about, Stark!" Natasha's fury whirled in a sudden turn of events on Tony. For one, she called him Stark. That was a bad sign in itself, like your mother calling you by your first _and_ middle name.

Stark, unable to control his mouth just got a shovel and kept on digging. "Well, JARVIS pointed out that Clint's security cams were a little, hmm, covered. And the way he was wearing a stupid grin on his face this morning…" Tony shrugged, as if it was the most logical conclusion he could come up with.

Natasha had preformed as Tony initially planned and released Clint from her clutches. Now she was doing nothing more then just standing over Tony's chair. That move alone was enough for him to start thinking about his will.

"And you think that we had hot raucous sex while you weren't looking?" She snarled.

Clint held both hands over his mouth trying desperately not to make a sound. He was splitting inside with his utter merriment at Tony's expense.

"Ah!" Thor suddenly butted back into the conversation. "Sex, a wonderful way to bond between two partners. My congratulations to you Clinton of Barton for such accomplishment! The Widow is a fair beauty."

Natasha was bright red with shame and anger. But mostly anger. Tony waited, his body scrunched into a ball for her to begin wailing on him mercilessly but nothing happened. Instead, as he slowly opened his eyes to get a bead on her location, he realized she wasn't standing over him at all. In fact, and perhaps the scariest thing he could have ever considered, she was gone.

"Plotting her revenge, no doubt." Steve said, as if reading Tony's mind. "Better watch your back. No telling when she'll get you."

Clint, unable to contain himself any longer laughed so hard he began to cry.

"Oh my God, I can't believe you thought that . . . That was the funniest thing I have ever heard . . . I used the chocolate on the cameras, Tony, you're such an idiot, it was the darkest stuff I could find, and the nonstick spray didn't obscure the image enough. I just wanted a minute of sleep where somebody wasn't watching me like some weirdo. That's so . . . I think I'm gonna pass out . . ." Clint attempted to take in some short, pained breaths as his healing wounds gave him grief.

"Well what was I supposed to think?" Tony demanded. "I'm blaming you for this."

"Fine, blame me, but that's not going to save you later." Clint pointed out. He wiped the tears from his eyes, his hand snagging on the line of sutures keep his face in one piece. He continued laughing in slow, jumbled bursts as his body finely started to calm down.

Disappointingly their show was on its last episode. Steve took up a second chair behind Thor and watched with interest at how he was portrayed by others. Every second the name Hydra was mentioned, something inside him clanged around, like a metal gong beating against his heart. That lead weight would be following him around for a while, he was sure. If this was what kept people remembering Hydra's name and whose side they were on, he was all for it.

Thor just liked watching himself on television.

Banner for his part was less interested in the show. He didn't mind how it made the Hulk look, less like a beast and more like a thinking human—thing. But his interest had moved past that to his responsibility as medical chief of the team. Currently, his focus was trained on the stitches in Clint's face and his mind was thinking about precisely how many days it had been since they had been set. When he came up with the same number twice (fifteen days) he decided to pose his question.

"Clint, you know, I think I can take those out today. If you want."

Clint had to catch up with the guy's train of thought for a minute to realize what was being said. "Oh, oh, my stitches. Sure, course. Have at it. Does that mean I can work out now?"

Banner thought about it. Technically his degree was not in medical science, but he knew a bad idea when it came to him.

"Uh, no."

"Can I swim?"

Now that made him think twice. Physically it was less impact then having the guy sneaking through the tower to get to the gym level he'd been locked out of. "Well, ok. Yeah we'll try that out for a little and see how you do. But no pushing yourself or I'll have Fury ground you for the next ten weeks."

Clint held his palms out. "No funny stuff, cross my heart."

"Oh, not crossing your fingers?" Banner chuckled, heading out to get his medical bag.

"Tony's doing that for me." Clint told him. Stark nodded and smiled in reply.

Steve watched the two defiant members of the team. He didn't know Clint that well. Time really never gave them the chance to get to know each other. The archer was either perched someplace out of contact, strolling about with Natasha on his heels, or in recovery. It made him feel a little guilty. He should know his team the best. But Barton was a strange case. Tony had somehow managed to crack him, and perhaps that was as good as Steve was going to get. So, he sat back like an outsider watching an old married couple tripping kids in the park. They made him smile, but at the same time he had to remember never to leave them to their own devices. Ever.

Banner came back a short time later with a few tools in his hands. Clint swung his legs over the couch and sat up while the impromptu doctor set to the monumental task of taking out the forty-odd stitches holding his face together. By choice, Clint had yet to see himself in any reflective surface. He even avoided windows. There was no mirror in his bathroom; he'd had Elsa take it out when he was conscious enough to ask her to. She seemed a little disappointed, but she didn't say anything. She didn't take it away completely either. Wordlessly she'd slipped it behind his headboard, in case he changed his mind.

So far he hadn't. Not that Clint was a vain person by any means. He knew a chunk was missing from his ear, and that in itself simply freaked him out. Seeing the stitches holding him together like one of Frankenstein's monsters was a little too much to deal with.

He was glad something entertaining was on the television to watch. Even if he was the only one beside Thor still absorbed in it. He knew Tony had moved out of his chair. The guy was now standing a little behind him and off to the side, watching Banner work. Steve too was watching. They both wanted to see how badly the scar had set.

"Well, you can always tell people a pit-bull grabbed your face." Tony tried to joke. His voice again fell flat of actually mirth. It made Clint terrified of how bad it really was.

"I had a pit-bull once; he was the pest dog I've ever owned." Clint told him. His hands were trying to shake, but he just picked up his empty coffee cup and sat their squeezing it.

"Don't let him throw you." Banner said gently, like a good doctor should. "It looks fine. I'll have you keep up with the ointment I gave you; it'll help the scar fade out."

"Or you could grow a big bushy beard up to your eyeballs." Tony put in.

"Don't think that'll work out too well with the bow." Added Steve.

All Clint was thinking was: _Is it that bad, do I need to grow a beard_? The coffee cup wasn't enough. He needed to squeeze something harder and not worry about it shattering in his hand. Suddenly he wished Natasha hadn't left his side. She'd hold his hand and not make it obvious that he needed her to.

As he felt Bruce's little tools working further and further across his face, up to his ear, behind his ear, he had a feeling for the real extent of the damage. He wasn't sure what had ripped his face open. The wrecking crew thought it may have been the windshield, or the edge of the dashboard. But it didn't really matter where it came from. All that mattered was what he was left with. At least he still had both eyes. He was reminded by everyone daily how lucky he was to be granted that little miracle.

"Well, that's the last of it I think." Bruce announced. This brought both Steve and Tony forward to give their approval. Tony's face made it seem like Clint was a disfigured monster. Steve was a little more sedate.

"Not bad." Was all the Captain could offer.

"Let's go to the kitchen and sit you on a stool, Clint. Then we'll see if I can get the rest of your staples out." Banner stood, leading the way.

Clint swallowed. It still made his skin crawl to think the only thing keeping his stomach from falling out on the floor was a few lines of (intentionally) stapled skin. He knew that wasn't the whole truth. Doctors gave him sickening detail of all the layers of muscles fitted back together like miniature jigsaw puzzles to get him back in one shape. They thought it would make him more cautious, less likely to do stupid things that tore his wounds open. It did not work.

"This is what, the third set of staples I've had in you?" Banner asked more himself then Clint.

Clint shrugged. He walked a little stiffly, now kicking himself for sleeping on the couch. Tony followed behind with the Captain. Neither wanted to miss the rest of the gross doctor lesson. Steve went to the fridge, now that he was allowed in it, and pulled himself out a tall glass of water. He sat on the other side of the island as Banner helped get Clint's shirt off. Tony stood to the left of Bruce, watching like a mother hen.

"Looks good." Bruce announced, as if no one else knew what they were looking at. A six-inch line of silver staples arced from his midline and off to the right of his chest. A more jagged line crossed his back like a train track. Other minor cuts from glass shards and who knew what else pock marked every other available surface of his chest and back.

"How's it feel?"

Clint shrugged. "How's it supposed to feel?"

"Any pain? Where is it the worst? Is it all over, or one spot?"

Clint took a minute to think about that as Banner got out his surgical staple-removers. "My chest doesn't feel too bad." He decided to start with. "Rib's giving me a little trouble now and then. Not awful."

"When you move around, what seizes you up?" Bruce tried again.

Clint shrugged again. "I don't know, it's my back mostly. Or around it."

Bruce let the comment hang in the air between them. He knew Clint was dancing around an issue, as if saying the wrong word would land him handcuffed to his bed. Banner had to find a different way of asking without getting his friend so concerned.

"When can he start back at the gym?" Steve asked. He was more curious then anything else. The silence had fallen in the room as Thor was still absorbed by the cartoon.

The doctor shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Light exercise to start with. No punching the daylights out of anyone. If everything looks all right, then maybe another week or two."

Clint groaned.

"Oh, what're you complaining about, I've got four more weeks in this thing." Tony waved his cast as if no one remembered it was there.

"Yeah, but you can hide yourself in a big metal suit." Clint pointed out.

"What, are you jealous?" Tony asked, grinning.

"Right now? Maybe."

"I am so making you a big purple costume with a pointed purple cowl." Tony said. "JARVIS, we're back in creation mode. Get me purple fabric."

Clint rolled his eyes. "I swear, if I see that thing in my room, I'm coming for you first."

"_Sir, Agent Barton seems a little less then pleased at the prospect of your new creation idea." _JARVIS felt the need to point out.

"Hey, whose side are you on?" argued the billionaire.

"Mine, now good JARVIS." Clint butt in again.

"Hey, you already have Pepper catering to you, leave my AI out of it."

"Maybe JARVIS just likes me better."

"He's programmed to prefer me."

Banner had already adjusted himself as Clint stood and Tony approached, and the two sat volleying back and forth over his head, but now they were so close, Banner was having trouble getting anything done at all. He stood up, effectively separating them.

"All right, had enough the two of you? Tony, back to your corner. Clint take a seat before I make you sit. And I'll be honest; the Hulk isn't so nice when it comes to medical precision." Bruce wasn't angry, at least he didn't seem to be, but the threat was enough to make them behave. Tony retreated and Clint sat again.

Silence dropped over them as Banner finished his work on the front of Clint's body. He then twisted around to the back and started there. A nice purple bruise was forming around the wound. It had developed seemingly overnight and had Banner mildly concerned. However, Clint's pallor remained normal, he didn't seem pale or blue. He could have bashed it for all they knew which was not at all unlikely.

"How's this feel?" Bruce asked, probing along the repaired rib.

Clint winced. "It's not happy, but all right."

Bruce's fingers traced along the same rib in both directions. It had broken in two places, the very end as it curved to his chest and the base almost exactly where it welded to his spine. The rib just below it was gone completely. It had been obliterated in a shower of eighty five little shards, not all of which could be found. Then he moved lower, palpating the new bruise for any increased tenderness. The doctor was so involved in his study he missed the ever increasing paleness swamping Clint's features.

At first the pain was somewhat bearable. Still painful, but at a tolerable level. Clint simply fidgeted a little, screwed up his face, and took it like a man. But then it went from something nagging, a wound still unhealed to a near colossal wave of suffering that hit him like a sock in the gut. Or the liver.

"Hey, Bruce, I think that's enough—" Steve tried to say.

Clint was half leaning against the center island. His hand held tightly to the edge of the counter top. It was all that was keeping his from shaking.

Banner's prodding hands moved slightly lower, into the depression left by the missing rib and suddenly Clint leaped off of his stool. His body went rigid, his legs locked, and he went to move backward a little but for some reason he couldn't. The room looked strangely wobbly. The ceiling looked strangely like the floor, and why was Tony suddenly a red-head?

"Tash?" Clint whispered in confusion. She was already hovering over him, the others pushed back by what could only be considered as a death glare.

"Hey." She said, as if he passed out on a regular basis and it was no big deal. Well, when he thought about that it was becoming increasingly true. He made a mental note to stop passing out. At some point it just had to be unhealthy.

"What the Hell—" Clint pushed himself up until he and Natasha were facing each other.

"Yeah, so, you may or may not be bleeding internally." Natasha said. Her tone was deadpan at best. "Banner wants an MRI. Stark's got one someplace downstairs. Course that means all that metal in your chest could come rocketing out."

Clint struggled to clear his muddy feeling head and understand what she was talking about.

Natasha shrugged. "I could always dig your rib screws out, if you wanted. Or they can try an ultrasound. Pain you're in, ultrasound's probably gonna kill you. They could numb you up. But that would mean," her eyes flicked to his. "Some needles."

Clint looked briefly from her to the others. They were standing a good twenty feet away, back in the living room beside Thor. Every one of them held a more then concerned look on their faces. But none of them dared to venture closer than the couch. The television was turned off.

Then Natasha's words floated back in again. Needles. Images flashed through his mind. Torture cells in Budapest. Needles under his fingernails. Being thrown in the equivalent of a sharp's container. Sitting for hours as one by one each was painstakingly pulled free. Then the blood tests that checked for AIDS, HIV, and all those all-too-human things that could kill him worse then a bullet to his brain. Natasha standing over him with his bow on her back as slowly she shoved the first hypodermic in.

Clint's mouth ran dry. No, he didn't like that idea at all.

"Another option?" Clint asked.

"CT scan, but we'd have to take you to the hospital for that. For some reason Stark has an MRI machine he can't even use because of his artificial heart-saver and not a CT scan which makes more sense." Natasha had obviously already yelled at Tony for this point. He began to shift uncomfortably at the edge of Clint's vision.

"Besides that, we can find a way to knock you out." Natasha added.

Clint did not miss the smile on Thor's face.

"Third option?" Clint asked, though he wasn't sure if he was even on the third. Maybe he was on the fifth option already. It didn't really matter, none of it sounded particularly appealing.

"All bleeding eventually stops."

Clint now gave Natasha a cynical look.

"Or, we could gas him." Steve suddenly broke in.

The room's attention turned in his direction. At first it sounded like sheer lunacy from a man where gassing on the battle field was regular practice. But then he elaborated, almost getting nods of approval.

"I'm sure between Tony and Bruce they have a bottle of Nitrous oxide. You know, laughing gas." Steve shrugged. "You could, uh, just dose him a little couldn't you? Be over before you know it. That's what they used on me at the dentist. Actually, I'm not really sure if its around any more."

Bruce and Tony both exchanged smiles.

"Laughing gas?" Clint asked, his voice disconcerted. But with the dwindling options shot down around him, it looked like laughing gas was his best choice.

Well, crap.

* * *

now you must wait. I was nice, gave you 3 small chapters. so review little ones, or else you get no more!


	4. 9:00 AM

**Author Note: **Those wonderful people who have reviewed: thank you! Everyone else . . . get on it :)-

**Disclaimer:** I did not come up with Tony's fear of water, but i much appreciate its suggestion in my mind by others! so i roll with it. Also, Clint's personal fear I do take credit for. All else belongs to Marvel. Darn you Marvel. . . Also, the song Titanium is by artist David Guetta

**Summery:** Clint, recovering from the events of a plane crash, finds himself trapped in Stark Tower with a hard case of Boredom. When his quest to escape has him pushing Pepper off the roof, Tony decides to take him for a night out. But not all is as it seems when Stark and the others are kidnapped, leaving Clint and Banner to go to their rescue. Regardless of bleeding internally or being drunk when they do it!

* * *

**Titanium Hawkeye**

_**9:00 AM**_

"Oh my God, this is great. Did you know this is great? Have you smelled this? I mean, it is like . . . butterflies on clouds or something. I swear it's like fricken awesome. Does possum rhyme with awesome? Possum's are weird."

Natasha stood by grinning while her good hand held the surgical mask over Clint's mouth and nose. The guy was baked. More then baked. He was just about twice baked, flipped over, and char broiled.

"No thanks, I'm good." Natasha told him, replacing the oxygen mask back over Clint's face when he again tried to hand it over.

"You're missing out." Clint said with a whimsical smile.

"I sure am."

Beside them stood Dr. Banner and Tony Stark. One was hardly seen much in the lab without the other. Not because Tony had any remote interest in how to run medical equipment, but it was his toys and that's all that mattered. Dr. Banner was relearning everything that a third world country helped him forget about ultrasound technology. That and he hardly ever used it with his career as a physicist. He knew the white glaring parts were probably gas pockets in the bowels. The dark flat looking parts belonged either to the spleen or the liver. Too much black flowing stuff was fluid, therefore not good.

"How you hanging in there, Clint?" Tony asked.

"Did you know that I was in a circus?" Clint retorted with.

Tony gave him a surprised look, and then gave the same on to Natasha.

Her shoulders went up and down a little. "It's true. Far as I know."

"I was—I was the best trick shooter in the place. I didn't tell you that. Did I tell you that? Had to do something, you know, I was like, only twelve. And twelve year people cant, like, have jobs or crap or anything. I like hippos."

"Sure, yeah, hippos, cool. What about this circus thing? Tell me more about that." Tony tried to steer the conversation into a helpful area of possible dirty little secrets. If Natasha didn't approve, she didn't say anything. Instead, she too seemed a little intrigued.

"I'm sure you're breaking some sort of personal law right now." Bruce piped up.

"Yeah. Was nice." Clint pulled his mask off again, just so he could watch as Natasha put it back on. Then he took it off again with a smile. "I like circuses. Tigers are cool."

Tony started to understand the strange train of thought now. "Oh, you worked in the menagerie. With the animals."

Bruce looked up at Stark.

Stark grinned. "I watched Water for Elephants, I'm practically an expert."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"I love elephants." Clint said, pulling off his mask again, but this time winding up to throw it to the floor.

Natasha caught it in midair and nearly crammed it up his nose. "God, Clint, if you take this thing off one more time I swear I will pick up a staple gun and nail it to your face, get me?"

Clint paused for a second, then burst out laughing. The laughter was infectious. In half a minute Tony was nearly rolling on the floor and Bruce was chuckling in his sleeve while simultaneously fussing with the uncooperative ultrasound probe. Natasha was even hiding a smile.

"Hey, hey, hey, what happened ever happened with your, you know. That thing?" Clint asked, suddenly seeming very serious. He was focused on Tony who in some ways was having a hard time looking at him. Seeing Clint like this reminded him a little too clearly of their time spent in the wrecked plane.

"Wow, I can't tell at all what you're saying." Tony said to him. "Let's talk about monkeys now."

"No." Clint replied stubbornly. He flinched and moved some as Banner passed over a particularly painful spot. As fast as it came, it was gone, replaced by Clint's need to be understood. "No, I mean the person lady. The trip. Amsterdam."

Tony made an O with his mouth as it all began to click. "Don't worry about that. Pushed the date just for little ole me. Now Steve and Thor are invited too. Nice huh? Just a quick video conference in the morning and the world is suddenly a better place."

"That's nice. You know, I don't think I ever want to see Amsterdam again?" Clint said, laughing all over again.

"Least he's not in any pain." Steve said from the lab doorway. He looked around at the strange scene that had been set. Clint was reclined in a metal chair that was probably more appropriate for dental work then medical use. Tony was bent over a table, laughing his head off. And Bruce and Natasha were both working on Clint staying still enough for the image to quit jumping around.

"I half wish he was to keep him from fussing so much." Banner complained, but somewhere in his tone Steve could tell the guy wasn't really mad. He'd seen mad, and this was not it.

"I'm guessing your not finding much." Steve replied. He walked in, avoiding the majority of the insanity that seemed to roll around in Tony Stark's life by not getting too close to the scene.

When Banner didn't reply right away, Steve got a little worried.

"Hey, Tony, hand me that hypo, would you?" Bruce instructed.

Natasha leaned forward in a split second and covered Clint's ears as if he was a three-year-old. The look she gave to Banner could have killed on impact. "What the Hell! He said no needles, we agreed."

Banner held up one hand as if to prove he was unarmed, the other held the probe steady near the line that was Clint's newest scar. "Look, I'm not a medic like I keep saying. But there is something collecting under his skin here, see it?" Bruce indicated the spot. "I just want to see if its blood. That's all."

"But he doesn't like needles." Natasha was whisper-growling, a peculiar tone all her own when it came to being angry and quiet all at once.

Clint had stopped laughing now. He seemed to realize, even in his haze, that something bad was being talked over him. Then a random though crossed his mind and he couldn't help sharing it.

"Budapest wasn't fun." He announced then his eyes fell on Natasha. "But I liked you. Even though you tortured me for like twelve days, I liked you. You were kinda cute. In like a homicidal, psycho Russian-wacko sort of way."

Natasha chewed her lip and looked around to see if anyone else noticed what he said.

If they did, no one said a word. Tony was closest, and he just handed the needle over in a discreet sort of fashion. Bruce popped the cap off and poised it over the spot he noticed on the ultrasound.

"Hey, whazzat?" Clint asked. Some terrified part of his mind was bursting to freak out, through a tantrum, or stab someone but it was strangely nullified by an overwhelming need to just relax and maybe take a nap on Natasha's available chest. That thought alone kept him busy for a few minutes. It was just long enough to get stabbed in the side.

The dull pain not completely shadowed by the constant flow of gas was not a big problem. In fact, he'd gotten rather used to it. There was something else though that really bothered him about what they were doing now. Like, it was wrong. And Natasha was there, letting it happen all over again. And she was going for his face. He'd pulled the mask off again, but this time it was long enough for reality to filter in.

Needle.

He analyzed his enemy almost at the same moment his fog cleared. Banner hit the floor with a boot-print attempting to bruise the Hulk he was turning into. Steve and Tony had both moved Natasha to the side and grabbed Clint before he rolled off the chair and hit the floor. The angry Russian grabbed the needle that was still poking out of Clint's chest and moved to fling it at the Hulk.

He roared at her, smashing an angry hand right through the hood of Tony's Bentley.

"Hey!" Stark exclaimed. "If you're going to be angry at anything, then take it out on the Prius because that thing, it's sad honestly."

The Hulk must have been taking lessons from Natasha because Tony swore those two had the same dagger looks in their arsenal. But then again, the Hulk did end up taking Tony's advice. He picked up the Prius and hurled it through four walls until the street was visible. Four car accidents may or may not have been caused by a powder-blue hybrid driving itself through the south end of Manhattan according to the mid-morning news.

"I'm not going to be mad about that." Tony told him resolutely.

"Get off!" Clint roared.

Steve and Tony both let go at once.

The archer pushed himself up, wobbled when he realized his legs felt like lead weights, and decided to stay where he was. That lasted perhaps a minute, if, and he was heading out of the room again. He grabbed his shirt off the back of the chair nearest the door and was gone before the Hulk could relax his way back into Bruce Banner.

"Well, not sure what kind of success that was supposed to be, but your patient just walked out in the middle of his own exam." Steve turned to the Hulk, as if he would find some answers there.

On the contrary, it was Natasha who soon stole his attention away.

"Better get him back." She said. She was looking at her hand and the hypodermic she held in it. Over half the syringe was full of solid blood. "I think he's got a big problem."

He was getting out. That was it. He was sick and tired of being in the Tower for the next ten weeks without so much as a breath of fresh air. He was going out for sushi or shawarma or something not hermetically sealed in a freezer box. He was heading for his room first to grab whatever money he could scrape together and then somehow he was getting out, even if it meant using his arrows to blast himself a hole.

Now, Clint wasn't an idiot either. He knew internal bleeding when he had it, but a quick check against a sheet of paper told him he probably wasn't about to die in the next fifteen seconds. If anything it was a slow bleed. He wasn't even light headed yet. If he was lucky it would just end up stopping on its own and there would be no reason to worry about it. If he wasn't lucky then eventually he would just pass out and someone would take him to the hospital. Either way the result would be around the same. People standing around, staring at him, freaking out, and then he'd be locked up for an extra two weeks. All the more reason to get out now while he could.

After a thorough search of everything in his room, Clint realized something very important. He already knew most of his clothes did not make it to the Tower from his bunk on the Helicarrier. What he did not expect was the lack of his wallet as well. Now not only did he have no money to speak of, he didn't even have an ID to drive with if he wanted to.

"Fine." Clint growled to himself. This was hitchhike city and a little thing like a missing wallet wasn't about to stop him. Clint was used to this sort of treatment. Granted, he was usually in Bulgaria at the time, but still.

He grabbed his leather jacket from the back of a chair and pulled on his shoes. In the few minutes it would have taken the others to calm Bruce down and go in search of their wayward Hawkeye, he was already moving to find his escape route. He'd kept the top of the tower in the back of his mind the whole time. It was one of the only places still available for him to go without getting into trouble with anyone. As long as they kept his repelling arrowheads out of reach, the others figured they were safe from worrying whether or not he would do a Spiderman from building to building.

Oh how wrong they could be. Honestly, he was a master assassin. A little ability to find escape routes wasn't exactly something he was unfamiliar with.

As he headed for the door, he was suddenly repelled backward by the opening of his door. Clint stumbled for only a moment. It was long enough for him to decide a secondary exit strategy, cash in pocket or not. He was halfway to the interior wall with a decision to cut his way straight through the drywall when the laughter caught him up short.

"Mr. Barton, you are funny. What do you plan to do?"

The last person Clint expected to see was Elsa, but then it did make total sense. She was paid to keep the place organized and with the mess he made of (everything) in his room it was no surprise she waited until now to get to it. Clint was placed in an awkward position. It was like destroying a hotel room in Las Vegas with a night of drinking and maybe a little of Natasha's "raucous sex" then waking up to the cleaning lady standing over your bed with a look of murder. Clint felt more fear in that moment with Elsa standing across from him then the last five months working with the Avengers.

"You planning on running off and leaving me with the clean-up?" Elsa asked. She pushed her cleaning cart into the room, the doorway hung open behind her. It was an open invitation for escape.

Clint gave her a lop-sided grin, as if his Caucasian charm could win over her Mexican roots. "You know, just getting a little cage-happy. Don't even have a window in here. Tony's not exactly that great of a host if he sticks a hawk in the only windowless room in the tower."

Elsa smiled some. "I believe he thought you may try and jump out it."

"Wasn't so wrong." Clint replied. He was moving toward the doorway. In another step he'd be bolting through it like a deer.

"And you are planning to run off now? Is that it? And you have nothing to get cab with in Manhattan? I think you will not get very far, Mr. Barton." Elsa was pulling out various items of her cleaning arsenal. Clint had stopped moving for the door. The woman had highlighted the one part of his plan he had been struggling with all along. If the others weren't collected in Tony's garage he would simply steal a car and life would be easy. But how far could he make it on foot?

"Here is for you." She walked up to him and pulled a handful of dollars out of her pocket. This she deposited into his hand (Even though she had to forcibly extract his hand from behind his back to do it). "You go on. Have some fun—"

"I can't take your money, Miss Sanchez." Clint objected, trying to push it back.

"You take!" She forced. "Go have fun. Pay me back when you can. That's all. Now go."

Elsa rushed away from in front of him and headed to the first scene-of-the-crime. Clint's mattress was on the floor. The rough box spring was the only thing containing the sheet he used for a blanket and the bundle of clothes wrapped in a pillowcase. After the first few days of putting the mattress back again, again, and again she gave up and left it on the floor. Now she just cleaned around it.

Clint stood in the doorway with his heart full of guilt. Half of him wanted to take off now while he still had the chance. But watching Elsa trying to put back together the ruin his life created caused him more then a little pause. He looked at the money in his hand, and half stepped forward to do something to help her.

"Oh, get out of here before I do put you to work." Elsa said. She looked up from arranging the sheet on his bed. She was still smiling. "Besides, I need you out so I can do a better job. Go on!"

Clint made a mental note to buy the woman some flowers or chocolate or something a chick would like. Then he was shooting down the hall, his escape plan one step closer to completion. Now all he had to do was convince JARVIS to let him onto the roof. That was probably the easiest part. His personal software was enough to give him the slightest AI edge over Tony Stark. If the billionaire really wanted to find the virus, he could have. But Clint figured Tony liked the idea that someone had bested him, however temporarily, at his own systems hacking.

Initially he hadn't really thought of how he was going to get down once he was on the roof. Climbing was his first option; he'd done that before on an unhappy journey through Mumbai three years ago and that building was twice the size of Stark Tower. Another option was to stick out his thumb and try to hitch a ride on the closest slow moving chopper. As it was at least four went by every few minutes on hero-searches. The Avengers were Manhattan's hottest celebrities. Six more-then-fit guys and one all-too alluring woman was all anyone needed to pay a thousand dollars for a Stark Tower helicopter tour. Well, Clint would give them something to wave for at least.

He jumped on the building ledge overlooking the iconic _Stark_ sign and weighed all of his options. He briefly considered giving Thor a buzz for piggy-back ride. As far as being judgmental, Thor wasn't. If Clint wanted to throw himself in front of a moving train Thor would probably ride shot gun with the conductor. It was impossible to know if the others had tainted him already with the all-out search for Clint, though. So that option was out.

"Elsa said you were up here—"

If Barton had _any_ idea someone was remotely able to get the drop on him, he probably wouldn't have perched himself so close to the edge of the building. The minute he heard his name, he jumped sky high and found himself teetering for balance on the two inches of space afforded to him on the building's roof.

"Ohmygosh—" Pepper rushed forward to grab the back of his shirt, but tripped halfway and ended up pushing him rather then helping him. Clint twisted like a cat in mid-air, grabbing whatever handhold he could find to stop his sudden thrust over the side of the building. Unfortunately, this ended up being Pepper's offered hand. She didn't realize until afterward that it was a bad idea to not grab hold of something herself until it was much too late. Pepper flew forward as the two of them fell.

"Crap, crap, crap. Crap!" Clint grabbed for the arrows that he knew were not there. A day out in the city did not usually involve a need for his bow and arrows. That meant no grappling lines, no percussions bombs, nothing at all. Well, nothing besides Pepper. Oh, yeah.

Clint leaned sideways, pulling at her arm until she was angled close enough to him for Clint to pull her into an embrace. She was screaming, a natural response to falling through the air with no hope of escape but to do one massive splat another forty stories down.

_This would be a good time for one of the fliers to come and save us_! Clint had a moment to think as he watched the ground rushing up at them. For some reason he wasn't worried, even with Pepper screaming bloody murder in his ears. Maybe it was just the internal bleeding, or the fact that this was the most interesting thing to happen in the last three weeks besides a plane crash. If Pepper wasn't there, he may actually have enjoyed the fresh air.

He expected the sudden jarring stop, but that didn't mean it didn't still hurt. Then there was the plate glass window, the rolling stop, the desk, a computer screen thrown off a shelf, and part of a wall crushed inward that added to their break in speed. All in all, suddenly much less fun then he planned.

"Holy Crap, what the Hell were you thinking? I heard some woman screaming, and JARVIS barely had the time to get my thrusters out before you took a concrete nap."

Hawkeye didn't have to clear the drywall dust out of his eyes to know it was Tony. "Yeah, thanks for that," he said sarcastically. "Loved the whole throw the guy through a wall idea. Really affective. Where's Pepper?"

Tony grinned. "It was not Miss Potts to whom I was referring."

Clint pointed a finger at him as if it was loaded. "Hey, keep picking on me and I will shove an arrow up you're a—"

"What did you—why did you pull me over?" Pepper was back on her feet, sort of. Her heels were missing now and the two-piece suit was now more like five. At least she didn't seem physically harmed. Tony had made certain that Clint received the brunt of that. Nice of him.

"Didn't mean to." Clint replied. "Just sort of happened. I didn't realize your feet weren't exactly planted. And besides, you snuck up on me!"

"You like some assassin double 0 something wacko! I thought you could hear like mice tapping in walls or dogs barking three blocks away or something!" Pepper was screaming, but both could tell she really wasn't mad. She was never mad when it came to Agent Barton. Tony couldn't quite figure out why that was, but he made it his secret mission to uncover the reason.

"Yeah, well, I'm called Hawkeye, not Elephant Ear, I'm not exactly up to snuff lately if you noticed. And if that leaves the present company I will throw both of you back out that window." Clint warned. He pushed himself up and brushed off his pant legs. "How far up are we?"

"Second floor." Tony answered.

Pepper sat on a vacant office desk and willed herself to stop shaking. Stark noticed her instantly and moved to do the gentlemanly thing and hold her, even if he was nothing but a metal tin can right now. She accepted the embrace willingly and suddenly the scene changed into Clint being the third wheel of a private moment.

That was just fine. He was planning to leave anyway.

"Hey, wait, where are you going?" Pepper pushed away from Stark to follow after the retreating archer. He was already to the busted window, sizing up where he would have to climb to get to the ground level.

"Same as before," Clint said over his shoulder. "I need air. I'm going to get some. Stop me if you want but the minute I come to, I'm going to try it again." He looked down to find a happy awning just waiting for him to smash through.

Perfect.

"Hey, whoa, you aren't going any place. I don't know if you missed that part during your little laughing gas happy time, but we pulled some not-so-nice red stuff out of your chest that obviously shouldn't be there." Tony was arguing all the way, but Clint noticed at once he was not trying to stop him either. That little thought was worth further exploration.

"Blood is perfectly normal, and it should be in all parts of the human body." Clint told him stubbornly. "And it's my abdomen, stupid. If my liver was in my chest I would _let_ you roll me to the hospital."

Pepper blinked at them, apparently overcoming her intense shock. "Wait, what's going on? Is Clint ok?"

"Honey, talk to your son, he's being unruly again." Tony ordered.

Clint was already stepping out onto a ledge.

"Clint wait!"

The assassin paused, Pepper's hand was on his arm in a stunning recreation of what had gotten them in so much trouble not long ago. But he waited for Pepper. He owed it to her. When he was down and out, and his mind was full of all the horrid things his nightmares could throw at him, Pepper was sitting there. Her hands combed through his hair as she told him everything would be all right. She was the kindest person he'd ever met.

"Are you ok?" She asked. Her eyes were pleading for the truth. How could he ever resist them?

He sighed. "Look, I'll be fine. I feel fine. I just need to get out of here before I lose my mind. I'll stick around the hospital, ok? Just in case.." His eyes looked to Tony. "Come on, you promised not to give me a hard time."

"Sure I did, but when we had that little discussion about taking bullets for each other, I don't think the undertone was that one of us would be the shooters either." Stark retorted.

"Tony goes with you."

Both Clint and Stark focused on Pepper. Their surprise was evident.

"That's the deal. You can go, but he has to go too. To keep an eye on you."

Clint moved to object, but she interrupted him before he could get the words out.

"No, not like that. I'm not sending him to be your guard dog, he's your friend. The two of you get into enough trouble as it is, but you always come out of it ok. As long as you're together. And here," Pepper pulled her cell phone out and handed it over. "You see the Stark's inside number calling and you answer it, I don't care if you're drunk or half dead, or in surgery. You answer it. Understand?"

Clint looked at the cell for a moment, but took it. He nodded his head understandingly. "Yeah, sure, Pepper."

"Do you have cash?" She asked.

Clint bit the inside of his lip. The whole time Elsa had probably already told Pepper what he was planning and sent her up to help him. He didn't want to say that the cleaning lady had spotted him thirty bucks, but then again she probably already knew that too.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "I'm good."

"Tony, get out of that thing and go have a good time." Pepper was ordering now. Tony didn't even give a witty retort. Up he went, blasting through the open window and to the top of the Stark Tower.

"Hey Miss Potts?" Clint said as she fell into a chair again.

Tired eyes looked at him. Clearly living with Iron Man and his crazy house mates took a toll on her. "Yes, Agent Barton?"

"Thanks."

* * *

ok. so now is the time when you comment or review or let me know your thoughts. make with it!

next time: the party starts


	5. 10:15 AM

_**Author Note: **thanks for the few reviews. but i am still sad since there were only like three. :(:(_

**Disclaimer:** I did not come up with Tony's fear of water, but i much appreciate its suggestion in my mind by others! so i roll with it. Also, Clint's personal fear I do take credit for. All else belongs to Marvel. Darn you Marvel. . . Also, the song Titanium is by artist David Guetta

**Summery:** Clint, recovering from the events of a plane crash, finds himself trapped in Stark Tower with a hard case of Boredom. When his quest to escape has him pushing Pepper off the roof, Tony decides to take him for a night out. But not all is as it seems when Stark and the others are kidnapped, leaving Clint and Banner to go to their rescue. Regardless of bleeding internally or being drunk when they do it!

* * *

**Titanium Hawkeye**

**10:15 AM**

They started out their trip through town (and as far away from Stark Tower as they could get) by hiring a cab. It took fourteen of them rolling by before Tony was satisfied the Cash Cab was no where in the vicinity and painstakingly got in beside Clint. From Columbus Circle through Times Square they got in and out of nearly twenty three different yellow cars. Firstly neither could decide what they wanted to do with their newfound freedom away from the responsibility of avenging. Secondly, no one recognized the great Tony Stark in any of the local dive bars and that simply was not good enough for him. Thirdly: it was still only ten-o-clock in the morning and said bars were full of only cleaning staff.

"You wanna stop at the hospital first then?" Stark asked. "Got thirteen hours to kill before anything good opens."

"No." Clint replied flatly.

"You like the Yankees?"

"I hate the Yankees."

"Like the Phillies?"

Clint looked over at Stark, as if trying to figure out where the question was coming from. He forgot that Tony was now a trusted ally. There was nothing shady between them and that was definitely taking some getting used to.

So Clint shrugged. "Actually, I do like the Phillies."

"Good. Then you can cheer the Phillies, I can cheer the Yankees, and whoever is alive by the end of the innings buys the first beer."

Clint smiled. It wasn't a bad idea. Good baseball game could last three or four hours. A Saturday afternoon game would start around noon-just enough time for them to get through traffic and into the stadium.

"And I'm guessing you just happened to have Yankees tickets lying around?"

Tony pulled them out of his back pocket. "Sure do. I pretended to be a boy scout once. Always be prepared."

The game lasted until seven-o-clock that night. After fifteen innings, the Yankees blew an easy fly ball and made it a four-run win for the Phillies. Clint was standing and shouting like a fool while Tony was cursing every Yankee out by name. They hung out in the winner's club for a round of drinks on Clint (or Elsa Sanchez) and caught a cab out of the stadium.

They circled the city three or four times, drinking a couple beers they picked up along the way and stopping occasionally to solicit chicks just for the Hell of it. Stark was dragged back into the cab when one particularly gaudy looking lady of the night recognized the Iron Man in disguise and decided to offer him a freebie. It was Clint who pointed out the hooker was actually a man, and suddenly Stark was less inclined to mess with the minds of the women thumbing for a ride on the side of the highway.

Fun game number two over, their night out was swiftly becoming a bust. Then the cab driver suggested on of his favorite clubs. With nothing better to go on, Clint and Tony agreed, rolling into a hopping dance club between Times Square and Central Park. The sign out front read _**Therapy**_ and it was the perfect scene.

Until they realized it was a gay bar. And those go-go dancers were decidedly not women even though they looked incredibly close. And the lady feeling up Clint's back look remarkably like the hooker he pulled Tony away from half an hour before. When they finely did escape with their lives (and a little less dignity) it was a mutual decision to not return to the same cab driver.

Dinner was courtesy of Gordon Ramsey at The London. The meal was on the house, a little favor returned for Stark sending a favorite energy consultant by to reroute some of the more energy-consuming kitchen appliances to a separate solar grid. The fact that the consultant was the only seven foot d-cup blond in all of New York working in that field, may have helped grease the Maitre de just a tad. On a tip from local wait staff, the club to be at wasn't hard to find. Clint took the initiative of guiding that half of the venture and before long they were sitting beside each other at a table in the Greenhouse.

"This was an awesome idea." Clint said.

"I told you it would be."

"As I recall, you said it was stupid, idiotic, and not befitting a man of your social status."

"And as I recall you fell of a roof, bewitched my girl friend, swindled my cleaning lady, reprogrammed my AI, and are ignoring internal hemorrhaging. Who's the idiot here?"

"You are."

"Did I leave myself open for that?"

"Yes you did."

Tony threw his arms up. There was no way he was going to win the debate no matter how hard he tried. So instead he focused his energy on something he could win at: the who-could-get-drunker-faster contest. So far Tony was ahead by three shots of Jack and one tankard of beer, but Clint was slowly catching up with his liver-killing Blue Motorcycles. Quality over quantity was the name of Barton's game.

"Besides, I didn't swindle Sanchez, she was polite and it was a loan." Barton felt the need to point out.

"Semantics." Tony said, unconvinced. "Besides, if you needed your wallet why didn't you just say so? I would've had someone drop it by, or asked Thor to get it. Wouldn't have taken more then an hour tops."

The night was still young, the music was just beginning to start up and the crowed just there for a quick after-hours drink was getting swiftly replaced by the ones looking for a good time. Clint watched the people shuffling in and out, the DJ getting his nightlife gear set and ready, and he milled about Tony's question.

"I don't know. I'm not used to relying on other people for crap like that, you know? If I couldn't just go out and do it myself, what was the point of asking someone else?"

"Well duh, Squawk-Head, we're a team. We're supposed to do stupid stuff for each other. Anything else you left in your (I have to say it) rather sparse room you want? Say the word and its here." Tony had a way of making everything he said seem like no big deal. If he was being asked to move the Empire State Building three feet to the left he'd just shrug and say "yeah, I moved it" and the conversation would drop. It wasn't as easy as Stark made it out to be, it never was. But it felt good that the guy was trying to put him at ease.

"Passport be nice too if you're offering." Clint replied.

"Planning on a long trip?" Tony asked.

"Always like the option."

"Oh, like spies will just flash their passport all over the place and you get unlimited access, that how it works?"

Clint chuckled. He was on his third Blue Motorcycle and riding hard. "That reminds me. I have seven passports. Make sure you don't forget any of them."

As the music began to start and a few of the already drunk patrons started to spread out across the dance floor, the two of them were interrupted by a phone going off. It took a few moments of Stark fishing in his pocket, only to realize he wasn't ringing. Clint suddenly remembered Pepper's phone and hurriedly grabbed it before he missed the call and was in real hot water.

"Barton." He answered.

"_Hello, I'm just checking up on you really quick to make sure everything's ok. I'm not like checking up, checking up, I just want to make sure you are all OK and not getting into trouble or something…"_ Pepper's voice came over the speaker.

"Hi, Pepper-my-darling." Tony shouted across the table.

"We're doing all right." Clint answered, then held his hand to the receiver and said, "She says hi, Tony."

Stark grinned and took a shot.

"_Are you at a club?"_

"Yeah, the Greenhouse. And I'll be honest. I don't know what kind of shape I'll be bringing Tony back in if he wins our drinking contest." Clint told her.

For a moment Pepper's voice sounded a little muffled. She was yelling at someone, but not at the two over the phone. There was the sound of a crash. Someone laughed a _loud_, _booming_ laugh and Pepper was back on the line in a more hurried tone.

"_Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for him to hear. I thought he was in the other room!"_

Clint stood, suddenly worried for her. Feeling his change in body language Tony got up beside him and drew in close to listen.

"Is everything all right? What happened? Pepper, just calm down for a second and stop apologizing. Tell me what's wrong!" Clint demanded. Tony's hands had curled into fists. He was trembling in horror.

"_He was just standing there and I didn't know it, I'm sure he'll be there any minute, I'm sorry! I don't think you have time to leave before they get there!"_

"WHO gets here?" Clint roared.

The club door opened roughly with a blast of cool air. The closest patrons stumbled back in shock. The room lights dimmed and flickered back to life as electric current shot across the room. When the dust settled, the lights flicked on, and the room calmed at last, Clint finely realized what Pepper was trying to tell him.

"_It's the Captain Rogers and Thor. They're coming to get you_!"

* * *

ok. now, for the love of my sanity, review. I'm starting to twitch. this book is a different pace then my other one, it sort of fought tooth and nail the whole time, but the action is still coming. i just wanted to have a little fun first apparently.

i am also swinging around in my mind the third (and final) book of this little series. might be Clint/thor friendship central. thisbook is a little Steve/Bruce/Clint friendship as you'll continue to see.


	6. 11:03 PM

_**Author Note: **yay! a couple more reviews. still not as many as i wanted . . . but ok.  
_

* * *

**Titanium Hawkeye**

_**11:03 PM**_

"Well if you are not leaving, then we are staying and that's the end of it." Steve Rogers declared

"If you are staying then we are leaving!" Tony growled back.

"This place is amazing! I find it very agreeable if all of us remain for a spell and refresh ourselves of the delicacies." Thor proclaimed. He dropped his hammer on the bar and motioned around the room to the people eyeing him with trepidation; as if at any moment he may burst into flames. Since the attention was on him, he continued with his speech. Grabbing the closest tankard off the bar, he hoisted it high over his head. "I declare a night of revelry and festivities. We shall celebrate the life of this great realm! Drink and make love, my friends, for tonight we make merry!"

There were cheers as the DJ scratched a disk into life and started the speakers pumping. Thor was dragged to the dance floor rather willingly by a bachelorette party bound on making the most of the bride's last night of freedom. From across the room Thor waved down his friends for them to join his fun and the focus of the room now took in the full sight of what had transpired.

Avengers were in the house.

The Captain looked over at Stark and Clint. "You two still heading for the hills? Cause I think you might have a wagon train following you out."

Tony gave an angry grunt and fell back into his seat. Three screaming girls had taken up residence behind him. None were brave enough to venture closer. So they stood there, screaming his name at each other.

Steve took that as an invitation to sit. A few club bouncers appeared out of no where and succeeded in keeping the increasing number of hero fan girls at bay. One of the body guards did a back-handed slip and placed a Team Avenger trading card on the table in front of Steve Rogers. Beside it came a sharpie, again from nowhere. Without question Steve signed it and left the card on the table where it disappeared three seconds later.

"So," Clint said as the awkward moment continued to climb in intensity. "Feel like playing a drunk game with us, Captain?"

"Wouldn't be fair." Steve replied, also ignoring the roaring Avengers chant (started by Thor). "But thanks for the offer."

Clint shrugged and nursed his drink a little slower. If the other two were crashing his party, he suddenly felt like having a little more of his wits about him.

"It was less of an offer, more of a plea." Tony added for Clint. "Please, don't make me beg for you to loosen up those military jodhpurs and cut us a little slack tonight."

Tony flew forward a little as a busty broad attached herself to the back of his chair. As he turned to look at what had happened he saw the handwritten "I love Tony Stark" drawn across her forehead . . . backwards. Obviously she had done it in a mirror and he had to give an A for Attempt at success and E for Epic fail. A marker was stuffed in her bra, waiting for him to pluck it out and scribble his name wherever he decided to touch her.

Without being asked, Clint reached over, pulled out the marker, popped the cap, wrapped it in a napkin and handed it to Stark. With a grateful smile to his friend, Tony rewrote her saying correctly. Clint took the marker back. He capped it and replaced it in the woman's bra before the bouncers carted her off.

About three seconds later a pair of panties flew over Tony's head and hit the table between them. It was rather obvious who they were intended for, the Captain America shield over a field of blue was a little hard to miss.

Clint grinned and looked at the captain. "I aint touching those."

Tony snapped his fingers and a bouncer was a little too eager to turn around and steal the panties off the table. They disappeared into his pocket, but no one mentioned they noticed that part. It was better just letting it go and moving on.

While the whole situation occurred, Steve was sitting back and observing in the way that he was trained. His memory went back to all those little encounters he caught between Stark and Clint. It started when Clint snuck into Tony and Pepper's bedroom. No . . . actually when Steve thought about it the bond started before that. When Clint was on the Helicarrier all Tony cared about was getting the guy off, out of medical, and back to someplace that felt like home to them both. Now they even had a silent understanding, a nonverbal communication where one could do something for the other without ever saying the question out loud. They didn't spend that much time together in the Tower, so what was it? Steve kept the curiosity in the back of his mind.

"So," he tried to make meager conversation, "How are you doing Clint?"

Both Tony and Clint froze. They starred at the Captain.

"What? I just asked how you're feeling. What with all the—"

Tony stopped him dead. His voice was sharp, a warning. "Don't," he said. "Drop it. Clint's fine. If he wasn't, he'd say it. Don't ask again."

The Captain nodded, his wonder mounting by the second. "Ok, sure. I won't."

Without anyone else noticing, Clint's foot kicked against Tony's. The billionaire kicked back and that was all. They had said their thank you and you're welcome.

"Did you miss us?" Clint asked to fill the conversation void. "Sheesh, Captain if I knew you cared I would have dragged you out with us. You missed a Hell of a good time."

"I'm sure I did." He replied. "It frightens me to know how much I may have missed."

Tony launched out of his chair. He grabbed the only full drink left on the table, which happened to belong to Clint, and thrust it into the air. "We need a man pact. Right here. If this is going to turn into a recreation of The Hangover, we need a total man pact. Thor!"

The Asgardian was shaking his Norse hind end all over the dance floor in the most erratic array of mythical dancing they had ever seen. At the sound of his name he dropped all gyrations and went running to the group. As long as he was at the dance floor, the guy wasn't even breaking a sweat.

"My friends?" Thor asked.

"Man pact." Tony said by way of explanation. "We all solemnly swear that none of our women, including my Pepper Potts and Clint's Natasha Romanov—"

"And my Jane Foster." Thor added.

The three others looked at each other with curiosity behind their eyes. This was the first most had ever heard of Jane Foster, save for Clint who had a faded memory of a girl coming into the army base one day in Tahoe to break the big guy out.

"I'll drink to that." Clint said, grabbing his glass back from Tony as Clint and Steve both stood. "Although I don't get why you're tying Tasha into this. We're partners, that's it." Maybe one time they could have been considered a thing, but not anymore. the events of the last few months proved that. If Natasha cared anything for him, she would have been there, stood with him, helped in through it. Instead she reduced herself to following him around and handing him his coffee and meds. He didn't need a full time nurse. he needed Natasha. If she wasn't willing to be that ever again, then he might as well enjoy himself and drink her away.

Tony ignored Clint and spoke to Steve. "Isn't cute nowadays how they say partners instead of lovers?"

Steve looked bewildered but he wasn't about to get tied up in that conversation.

They all drank to the toast regardless. First Clint, then Tony who took the glass from him. After all, the remains of the vodka/tequila mix was the only the alcohol left on the table. Tony shoved it at Thor who took a hefty swig, leaving a quarter of the glass for their Captain. Steve looked at the contents for a moment, weighing the benefits of some group bonding over his inability to enjoy alcohol now that he was unable to get drunk at all. More then likely he'd be playing mother hen later, rounding up the men before him and ferrying them home like a good CO would. What was one night of babysitting? In the scheme of things, maybe he'd get to know Clint a little better.

Tossing back his head, Steve Rogers did the unthinkable and downed the entire remaining contents in a single long gulp. After his mouth seized up like a fiery vice and his eyes did a 360 around his sockets, the room again cleared.

"What was that?" He spat out, looking at the glass as if it were poisoned.

"Not bad, Cap." Clint congratulated. He looked genuinely pleased. "Not many guys can take vodka and tequila that hard. Wanna go for another?"

Steve again weighed in that little piece of his mind the cost/benefit analysis of Clint's proposed challenge. If this was what the archer was drinking, then that was one way to get closer to him. "How many have you done?" Steve asked.

"Be two and a half about."

"Line them up. I've got some catching up to do."

Tony gave a holler for joy as he slapped Thor on the back with his casted arm. Their night out suddenly took a spin for the better. And Stark was excited as a teenager to get the Captain to prove his worth in the real world.

"Come on, Thunder Pants, we got drinks to cart over!" Tony shouted over the increasing noise of the club picking up tempo. The billionaire and Thor broke through the circle of bodyguards and headed for the bar. Not even halfway they were swallowed by the hero hunters and the two let themselves be dragged to the dance floor.

Clint and Steve sat across the table from each other and watched as the not-so-bad a dancer Tony Stark cut himself a sizeable piece of real estate in the center of the dance floor. With Thor at his back attending four women at once and Tony dancing with an invisible three foot barrier between him and the nearest other non-Asgardian, they made an interesting sight to behold.

"So much for those drinks." Clint said, though a grin still played on his lips. It made him a little more then uncomfortable being left alone with Rogers. Sure the guy was pretty much the leader of their team, the one responsible for keeping everyone safe and looking out for their best interests. But Clint was never very good about following orders. Then his thoughts went to Coulson and the feeling of discomfort expounded.

"I'm sure they'll be around." Steve said. "Much liquor as Stark's got in him right now I doubt he'll be getting through two dances. Although it would be something to see him toss chunks on the dance floor."

Those words cut right through Clint's disconcertion and made him chuckle. "Yeah, you know, I would like to see that. I should have gotten him more drunk."

"I kinda wish you did now too." Steve added.

Silence fell between them again. They both went fishing for something, anything to fill the uncomfortable void left between them by Tony not throwing out conversation topics. Each one tried for a word, then stopped halfway when they thought it might sound strange or wrong somehow. Clint was becoming increasingly frustrated with himself. This was something he was supposed to be good at. Although usually he was lulling people into a false sense of security before he cut their legs out from under them, but still. He should be able to at least keep a civil conversation with a guy he'd known for almost three years. Then that gave him an idea in itself.

"Ah, Hell. I might as well just say it." Clint said. He sucked in a breath and out came the admittance. "You know, I was there."

Steve had a questioning look.

The archer was still watching the dancers and for a few moments didn't say anymore. And then he started up again, as if nothing had stopped him in the first place. "When they thawed you out. I was on guard detail. Coulson and me. He was crazy about you. Got me on special duty rotation. I even went on Ebay for his birthday and got those stupid cards of his. The Captain America ones. I got those for his birthday. That and season Two of Super Nanny." Clint chuckled a little, light illuminating the perpetual gloom over his face. "He was over-the-moon. Thought he'd pass out or something. Course that was not long before he had to pull me out of Afghanistan. You know what I was doing there?"

At this point the archer turned away from the dance floor and looked straight at the Captain. It was then Steve realized he wasn't looking at anyone, not really. The whole time he was someplace far away. Reliving a memory that was hard to get a hold of. In lue of all the presant revelations Steve was gracious to be at all part of, he could only imagine the most obvious answer. Clint must have been sent to the war. Sniper/scout/ all in one he was probably a key asset to his commanding officers.

The question hung in the air between them until at last Steve felt compelled to ask what Clint had been in Afghanistan for. Steve doubted Clint would have even continued speaking without Steve's help, even if the Captain could easily guess the next answer.

"I was looking for Tony Stark."

The Captain guessed wrong.


	7. 11:39 PM

This chapter has been updated: there was a slight name change in the end from Cheri to Beth. thanks!

_**Author Note: **feedback! yay feedback!  
_

* * *

**Titanium Hawkeye**

_**11:39 PM**_

Steve sat up a little straighter and bent himself forward over the table to hear better over the now buzzing thrum of the speakers. He must have heard Clint Barton wrong. There was no chance he was _that_ connected to everyone. When it was obvious Clint again was not going to say any more without some prompting, Steve did just that.

"What were you looking for him for?"

Clint shrugged. He played with the neck of one of Tony's discarded beers, looking at the bottom occasionally as if willing some liquid courage to appear back in it. Some part of Clint's mind kept him from looking too hard. The last thing he wanted to catch was a glimpse of his own reflection. The horrific scar on his face, the look of Loki hiding behind his eyes . . . the thought made him shiver.

Clint went on: "I was just barely allowed out in the field on my on recognizance. SHIELD seemed to think i had an issue with listening to command. which was probably true. unless that command came from Coulson. He was realistic. He knew how the world worked and didn't issue idiotic orders that couldn't be followed. And he eliminated a lot of my red-tape issues. I'd been in the war for a while with this group or that. Coulson became my official handler since all the others quit. Even Agent Hill was my C/O for a while, but that lasted maybe three weeks before she gave up. SHIELD almost scrubbed me out too, but Coulson, he just made sense when no one else did. When Stark got captured in Afghanistan it was me they sent in to extract him. Have you ever been to Afghanistan?"

Steve shook his head. "No."

"Well for one thing, their Shwarma is better." Clint's joke had them both chuckling for a little bit.

Again Clint had stopped, unable or unwilling to keep talking without being asked to. So Steve added. "But I know Tony got himself out."

"Yeah, I was about twenty-five hundred miles away at the time. Another SHIELD team I filled in with once in a while stayed with the Afghanis, searching through the hills. It was that team's helicopter that took him out of the desert. Don't tell him. I think it'd hurt his feelings. Coulson had to rush me into Budapest with everyone's favorite redhead getting my life thrown in my face."

Their conversation was interrupted by a shot girl swinging around to their table with a tray of delicacies fit for the Avengers. Apparently there was an open tab, all drinks were free as far as the bar was concerned. Apparently have the A-listers was good for business. Clint was sure they had maxed out the number of safely-invited in guests for the place and then some. If a fire commissioner happened to be strolling by, the place would look like a raid was going down with the amount of people they'd be shoving out the doors.

Clint ordered a beer, planning to keep it light for a little while at least. After all the night was still young and it did no one any good if he got drunk now and ruined his own fun. True to his word, the Captain ordered exactly two and a half glasses of Blue Motorcycles. Clint didn't feel like pointing out that the Captain had already drunk a quarter and the end result wouldn't be the even give and take he'd planned on. But who really cared? Clint doubted the guy could get drunk anyway and a little extra tequila couldn't hurt anyone.

When the barista had gone and returned with the order, Clint and Steve were already reengaged in their conversation. So much so, they hardly even noticed the girl's approach at all.

"She thinks Budapest was the greatest fun of her life. I suppose it was from her stand point. She was set up to kill the new Egyptian president. Been a lot of trouble in that little speck of the world and getting rid of him would just through half the Middle East into a tailspin. SHIELD knew about it and I was sent in to, well, take care of the situation."

The girl was gone, but Steve had his drink. He drank another quarter in a single shot. It felt like death every time, but it was obviously earning him some respect in Clint's eyes. The next time maybe he'd try a half and see where that got him.

Clint thought about stopping himself. After all, the story was only half his. But to be honest, he was sick and tired of just not saying anything to anyone. Before the Avengers, he had Coulson and Phil knew everything about him. He always knew about Stark, and Steve, and Budapest, even Thor. He knew about Clint's fears, what drove him to sleep on the floor, or made him perch in a nest. Phil knew everything that made his agent's tick and without Phil around Clint felt like know one knew him that way. Especially Fury. It was sure as the sun melted men's boots that the one-eyed sadist cared little to none about personal lives. All that mattered was the mission and its success. As long as those two things happened everyone was good.

But Clint wasn't. Sure he wasn't much of a team player, but the Avengers were different. Cap was his C/O now. He could open up a little, couldn't he?

"I don't even know why I'm saying this." Clint admitted. He slammed his beer down, pushing it away in frustration. "It'd be so much easier if he was here, you know? Everything would be easier. I wouldn't have psyche on my case, or Tony dragging me to bars. I wouldn't have to fall eighty stories to get a night out. My team wouldn't have to resort to gassing me with fuel injectors to their Fast and Furious cars. It sucks, you know that? It just sucks!"

And then, it all made sense.

Steve realized they were talking less and less about the things Clint had done and more about the things Coulson did. Coulson got him on into the war. Coulson sent him to Budapest. Coulson protected him, guided him, and took care of the red tape that so often found its way wrapped around Clint's life. Coulson probably even found Clint in that circus from his youth and made a real soldier out of him. Now Coulson was dead. Clint couldn't even bring himself to go to the funeral; he was such a wreck at the time.

Steve was the one who broke the news to him. Team leader, the guy to look up to. The last conversation they had, the last one that really mattered was Steve telling Clint that Phil was dead. He remembered the moment with all the clarity of a cinema. Clint was leaning in the doorway to his bunk, looking in as if to see something or someone that wasn't there. He was confused, hurting, and felt the weight of an armada's worth of evil glares bearing against him. Steve was walking by on the way to heloing clear some debris from the hanger. He didn't expect to run into Clint. He didn't figure the guy would turn around so suddenly and blurt the question out. Where was Phil? Phil was always there, always waiting to debrief him. especially now after all that had happened.

_"Coulson?" Steve had said, surprised. "But, he's dead. Didn't anyone tell you?"_

Simple, cold, and uncalculated. The last thing Steve had really said to the guy. an off handed statement ending the life of Clint's virtual father-figure. Right now, Steve felt like shoving a boot down his own throat. That was the rift between them. That was what kept Steve at a distance when everyone else was growing closer to their ace archer. Rogers was the bad news bringer. When Clint saw Steve, all he saw was Coulson lying dead in the morgue.

"I'm sorry, Clint." Steve said. They had fallen silent, but this time something was a little different. "I had no idea. I know how much my C/O meant to me. And when I found out he was gone, I . . ." Steve's eyes were focused downward and into his glass. Now he did need that half a glass chug. He swallowed it in two quick drags. "Let's just say I didn't come out of the gym for a little while. And no one else was able to go in for about six months."

Clint quirked up a corner of his mouth. "_What_ gym, right?"

Steve nodded. "By the time I was done, that's about how it was. Look, I never want to take his place. Don't look for me to." Steve slid his empty glass away and grabbed the next one. He longed to change topics. As much for Clint as for himself. "But he got you and Natasha partnered up. Why did she decide against killing the Egyptian president?"

"She had something better to do."

"Like what?"

Clint grinned a little mischievously. His hands were around his beer bottle. Unconsciously he started picking at his fingernails. Steve had already seen this a few times, he wrote it off as a nervous tick. Something Clint just did and never knew or thought about. Tony for instance liked to bounce his knee. Thor had the same problem, but when he did it the entire apartment tended to shake. Thankfully Banner didn't have many nervous ticks. Besides turning into a big green rage monster.

"Natasha had better things to do then get tied up in politics. After all, I got in her way at the assassination attempt. Can you believe she actually shot me? And enjoyed it? God, she was a little witch back then. It only winged me, but it was enough I couldn't shoot her back. By then we were well acquainted. We'd been playing opposites sides for a while on various fronts. When she saw the opportunity to catch a SHIELD agent, she took it. Can't say I blame her."

"You would have done the same thing." Steve commented.

"Oh yeah, that's what I did. The difference was I'm nice to my captives. Fury—" Clint stopped picking at his nails long enough to hold his hand up between them an wobbled it up and down. "Fury, he's half and half on the whole torture thing. Nat, Hell, she had me for three days of agony. Shot in the shoulder that I could deal with. But when she had this little Asian guy come in and do the whole fingernail treatment with . . ." Clint stopped. He couldn't even say the word without his skin crawling all over.

Steve wasn't an idiot. He'd already put the pieces together. Syringes. Needles. For three days Natasha Romanov watched Clint Barton develop his greatest fear before her very eyes. If he tried, Steve could just barely see them. The pinhead sized scars dotting across Clint's hands. Normally obscured by his gloves or his finger tabs, the scars were too numerous to count. Finger tips were everything to an archer. Shoving needles through them was not exactly conducive to a good sportsman.

"And you looked past all that?" Steve asked, mystified. "Everything? How'd you even get out?"

"Knew she must have liked me." Clint explained. "First off, I never gave her crap. That made her mad. Then she should have just killed me. After the first twelve hours, I figured she was done. Then thirty-six hours in I was still alive. Half dead, but alive. I knew I had her then. It helped that I had enough glass in me to store up some shards to cut my ropes. It was her and me. She had no chance. As much of a weapon as she is, there's only so many ways to get out of a guy holding a hunk of glass to your carotid artery. I knew it just as well as she did."

"But you didn't kill her."

Clint shook his head. "Could have, but didn't. We had history. Granted, we worked opposite ends of the same wars, but that didn't really matter. I knew she wanted out. I could tell. I just gave her the means, the way Coulson gave it to me."

Steve drank a little more, milled the story around in his head, and then asked what had been bothering him along the way. "So, let me ask this, then. When Romanov says she's got Red in her Ledger, that's not the fact that you gave her a chance. That you saved her. It's because of what she did to you. She feels guilty and she's trying to repay you for it. Am I right?"

Clint thought about it, but ended up with no good answer in his mind. "Honestly, you got me, Cap. You'd have to ask her."

"Captain America! Oh, Captain America, please, it's Beth, do you remember me? You saved me at the bank, you were so amazing!"

Steve, hearing the name of his alter-ego looked away from his partner and into the crowed of still-swarming ladies. In fact, the one calling his name he did recognize. Not because of the battle in the city, but the news coverage afterward. She looked different not covered in blood and concrete rubble, but he was good at remembering faces.

"Beth?" Steve asked, trying the name out on his lips.

The woman looked like she was going to pass out when her name came from his lips. "That's right. Do you remember me? You were so amazing. Really, you were so courageous!"

Steve flashed her the all-American boy smile and thanked her for supporting him. But Clint wasn't about to leave their reunion at that. In fact, there were a few hero-worshipers out there clawing to get a piece of Clint as well even if he wasn't more high-profile like the others. It made him feel a little important, to be wanted. So he made a choice for the both of them. Sitting on the side lines was over. Tony and Thor were having enough fun for everyone but that didn't mean Clint had to sit back and be a wallflower all night.

"Come on, Cap, let's go cut some rug." Clint said. He pushed himself to his feet, one hand rubbed the spot where his liver was still miffed about lack of treatment, and even the ill treatment of too many alcoholic beverages compounding his slow internal bleed.

Steve shot out a hand to keep Clint steady, concern marred his face and he couldn't stop himself from asking if the archer was all right.

Clint waved it off. "Look, if it was serious, I'd probably be dead by now. Besides, I'm only a little pale. The pain I hardly notice at all. Let me get stupid drunk, dance with a few girls, and then you can take me to the ER. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I said stupid drunk, ok? If I remember tonight, then it's not drunk enough and it doesn't count."

In response Steve picked up Clint's beer off the table. He handed it to the archer as they broke the line of enforcers and headed for the dance floor. The faster Steve got Clint drinking, the sooner he could get him some medical help. Sure it wasn't exactly orthodox. But that is precisely why they decided to leave Banner at home. If all Steve had to do was get Clint drunk, so be it.

* * *

ok, so the next couple chapters will begin the action. thanks for being patient, hope you like:) and don't worry, eventually almost everyone will end up in the hospital;)


	8. 12:12 AM

**There has been a slight change from Steve being a dancing guru to a dancing unknown that turns guru. thanks!**

_**Author Note: **though not a songfic, this song definitely fits this scene. hope you enjoy  
_

* * *

**Titanium Hawkeye**

_**12:12 AM**_

_I'm bulletproof, _

_nothing to lose_

_fire away, fire away_

_ricochet, _

_you take your aim_

_fire away, fire away_

_you shoot me down, _

_but I won't fall_

_I am titanium_

_you shoot me down, _

_but I won't fall_

_I am titanium_

The last thing on his mind was Natasha Romanov. Right now, his body was in the moment and moving to whatever the speakers were blaring at him. He stood as close to them as he could, his body pulsing with every dramatic wave of bass pounding through. He never typically listened to lyrics, but for some reason this song sort of spoke to him. Clint never showed up at the bar with the intention of picking up some random chick and going dancing, but that's precisely what happened. Now he was on the dance floor, letting his body lose control in a fantastic unregulated way as whoever-she-was wrapped her arms around him.

Steve was more then a hit a few dozen bodies down. He had class, and chicks liked that. He was a forties throwback who new just as much about dancing and rhythm as the lamppost down the street. That didn't keep the girls off him though. Everyone wanted the chance to show him what real dancing in the new century was all about, and that included every low down dirty grind imaginable. Steve was a modest guy, but he could be a sheep sometimes too. He followed along like any good soldier until the music took him to places unknown. Now the master of his own movements, the dames lined up like playboy rabbits waiting for their turn to spin around the dance floor in his expert hands.

Thor never danced. Not once in his life. But he looked hot enough to merit three girls sitting on each of his arms as he did squats by the bar. Tony counted each one out as he absently signed various exposed body parts.

Yeah, this was not exactly how Clint had planned to spend his night out of Stark Tower, especially his night "sneaking" out of Stark Tower. But it was good enough. None of the guys were giving him a hard time and he was actually sort of enjoying himself. They even took a guy oath- none of their prospective love interests was ever going to find out about tonight. That included Pepper, Thor's apparent beau Jane, and Agent Romanov was somehow roped in with them. Clint didn't quite understand why. Sure they were a team, but it wasn't like they were a commodity. It was a fact he actively demonstrated in careful attention to the unnamed chick against him.

Any thoughts of Natasha were long gone. Any other slight worries about heading to the hospital afterward were distant too. Clint was just enjoying his fresh air, putting off his cares until he sobered up the rest of the way.

The song hit a break as the DJ made some irrelevant announcements. Clint took the time to catch his breath. He was sure that dancing like a lunatic prom girl was on Banner's list of things not-to-do, but he was never very good about following those directions.

"Hey, you thirsty?" the girl asked him.

Clint thought about it, looking over at the others. Tony and Thor were now having a push up contest- the loser forced to down a pitcher of warm beer. With a cast on in place of his iron suit Tony required a handicap for Thor. That turned into the now seven blonds standing cheerleader-style on the Asgardian's back. An eighth chick was doing Jell-O shots off his hammer. Steve was being Mr. Amazing, getting to know his crowed of ladies by passing out what could only be dance cards fashioned out of some club napkins. He was not about to let a single one go home unattended on the dance floor.

"Sure." Clint decided. He wouldn't be missed for the next few minutes, and his head was starting to buzz from his proximity to the speakers.

The girl grinned, and then threaded her way through the pit of dancers who had started up with the next pulsing song. She turned back a few times, as if to make sure he was following behind her. They reached the fringes of the excitement and took a seat at a vacant table. A few minutes later the shot girl came by with a sparkling something for his friend and plopped a frigid beer in front of Clint. She flirted him a smile and off she went.

"Never seen you out here." Clint's dance partner said. Her voice was a measure loud; the speakers had her buzzing a little too.

"Never came out." He replied. "Been sort of on house arrest last couple weeks. Broke out tonight as it was."

She smiled. It was a nice smile, he noted. Not like the loaded half-smirks he got out of Natasha. He wasn't sure why he was still thinking about the Russian.

"You don't seem like the kind of person to be tied down." She remarked, genuinely surprised.

He scoffed a little. "Yeah, well, I used to think that too. Apparently the Tower's virtual butler has proven otherwise. 'Sides, I've been sidelined from fun stuff for a little while. Medical leave from my job."

Her eyebrow rose. She looked over at Tony who was chugging the gallon of beer now. "Job, huh? You're not really fooling anyone. I know who you are. Clint Barton, right? The archer?"

Clint smiled. He was getting a lot of that tonight. It felt . . .good. He took a sip of beer as he nodded his head. "You got me."

"Me and all the other hero-bunnies in here." She replied wittily. "Doubt any of you are going to leave here without an entourage."

Clint chuckled a little, but continued to nod. "Yeah. That's probably about right. Thor flew here. Don't know what him flying home drunk would look like. Tony will need his own gurney too."

"And the dance guru?"

"Cap? He's sort of our top guy. Doubt he'd ever get drunk, if he even can. He'd get us home all right. He's built for that. Looking out for us, you know?"

She watched him as he spoke. Her eyes were dull, grey-brown and boring. Her hair was unkempt from the bustle of dancing. Her shoes were sitting on the chair beside him and three inches higher then she was ever used to wearing. Hawkeye, even an inebriate Hawkeye, could see she wasn't a regular dance-floor attendee either. His assassin senses tingled uncomfortably, but it was simply his overactive imagination setting them off.

"You don't get here often either, do you?" Clint asked. His observation was probably a bit more like an interrogation then he wanted. But he was getting drunker, and caution was a little less sharp then it should be. "You're what? Twenty-three? You don't drink, I can tell by the way your smelling that Shirley Temple for alcohol content. You're a good dancer, but don't know to keep far enough away from the speaker to save your eardrums. Those heels didn't last more then three songs on your feet, so you don't hang in heels often. So what's your story?"

"Not proper to ask." Her answer was quick, and a little heated. She quickly reached for her drink and sucked down enough to prove to him it was definitely non-alcoholic.

"Proper enough, you know all about me. Whole world does. You went for me and aren't lined up for Steve to swing you around. You haven't even taken a turn at trying to lift Thor's hammer off the bar, everyone else has. Hell, I have." Clint sat back in his chair, letting his beer bottle rest on the table between them. He was done drinking for a little bit. He had a mystery on his hands that needed attention.

The girl was quiet. She watched the other patrons dancing as she was forming her words, her story, and testing the lying boundaries in her head. Clint had already decided he wasn't going to believe whatever bull she came up with during the pause. He almost just stood up and left, but she opened her mouth.

"Fine, all right. So I don't go out. Ever. I'm just some stupid grad student with no life. I never wear heels. They aren't even mine, they belong to my friend Stacy. She's the blond doing the Jell-O shots over there."

Clint looked behind him, noting again the chick sucking alcohol off of Thor's hammer.

The girl sighed and shrugged at the same time. "I don't know what made me even come out tonight. I hate partying. I don't drink, you're right, and I have a final in the morning on the anatomy of a goat in Philadelphia. Some of us students just came out for the weekend, to see Manhattan."

"Should have seen it a couple months ago. That would have been a sight." Clint replied. Something was telling him she wasn't lying, or even exaggerating. The truth was a strange thing to him, especially given up so willingly.

She leaned forward, her dull eyes suddenly very intense. "But that's why we came! I wanted to see you again, I wanted to—" She stopped suddenly and slouched back in her seat. "Never mind," she muttered. "Forget it, this whole thing was a stupid idea."

"Wait—what?" Clint leaned forward now. Maybe it was too late and he was already too drunk for his own good. "What do you mean?"

She blushed and didn't look at him. "I don't know. It was just a stupid idea. Like going to Hollywood to see the celebrities. We _were_ here in Manhattan that day. Stacy was lucky, really, and Samantha and Markus too. They got caught in the subway when the power went out and missed the worst of it. I was in midtown, waiting for them to show up. I—God, its just so stupid…" She started to stand, grabbing her heels off the chair. "Look, forget it. Thanks for the dance, I had a lot of fun, really."

Clint bolted out of his chair to stop her. "Hey, come one, just say it would you? Look, if you're embarrassed for getting the crap scared out of you, I get it. Honestly. But you can't keep stringing me like this, I haven't had enough air outside the Tower to deal with a strange dame giving me half a story and not finishing it." He blinked for a minute, surprised at his own words. _Dame_, he repeated in his head. Steve was hanging out in his room too often.

She looked at him, figured it wouldn't hurt matters any worse to just come out and say it, and replied, "You saved my life."

Clint obviously did not register what she said.

So she elaborated. "You were on the building, firing your arrows. One of those, alien things, it was heading right for me. It had a gun. It killed like, four people around me and it just wasn't stopping. I—" Her body went strangely stiff, as if terror was flooding her system and pushing every other emotion out. "I just sat there. It wasn't worth running. I figured I was dead but then the thing just stopped. I didn't realize what happened until it just keeled right over. It had an arrow in its back." She opened her handbag and pulled something out. Hawkeye had only a moment to take in the sight of it and the end of her story all at once.

"I don't know, I wanted to give it back. I wanted to . . . well . . . I wanted to thank you. You saved my life. And not just me, there were like, thirty other people there. I just, well, here."

The girl handed him a black rope cord necklace. The principle charm was none other then his arrowhead, the one that saved her life. Along the thing, sharp edge was an engraving in the smallest letters he could ever read while slightly inebriated. They said _Thank You-Emory_.

"It's cheesy and stupid, and I know it makes me look like two years old, but I just—"

"It's great." Clint cut her off. But _great_ wasn't exactly right. It was better then great. It made him feel something. Suddenly the burden of a heavy heart he'd been dealing with was temporarily lifted. He, Clint Barton, saved someone. And they appreciated it. Those were two things that did not happen everyday.

In a club of hero-seekers, Clint had been shoved off by the high profile attractions like Tony and Thor. He was stuck in the fringes of the periphery of everyone's attention. Everyone save this one girl who sought him out. To her, the others were nothing. Clint Barton was the only one that mattered in her world.

She seemed to perk up a little. "Really? You like it?"

He looked into her eyes. "Really, I'm being honest. It's—wow, I can't believe you made this, for me." He held the piece in his hands, flabbergasted. He wasn't sure what he should even do with it beside just hold it.

Her smile came back. "You're not yanking my chain, right? Because if you are, that's ok, just don't tell me."

"No, I—" Clint felt a body fall across his back. The force of the impact almost sent him flying into the table. The pain from his damaged liver sent him reeling into a chair at least. It was getting to be that time when he had to start thinking hospital again.

"Hey, arrow-man-guy-guy." A slurring woman said, and then she started laughing in a strange-drunk way. "Where's you friends, they all go? Emmie Baby, come drink a drink with me. Hey I rhymed!"

Recognizing the intruder as Emory's friend, Stacy, Clint relaxed a little. If it had been Tony, the guy would have had a punch to the face by now.

"Stacy I think you're going to need a cab, and a ride home now." Emory broke in.

"No, no—not until I . . . where he go?" Stacy spun around two or three times in place before dropping onto Clint's lap and grinned. "Oh, hi! There you went. Don't go so quick. I can't see too good . . . my drunk glasses on my head. So where's the big guy? I wanted to take him to my place for some more, whatsitcalled, you know?"

"Stacy, get off him!" Emory pulled her up and sat her in a chair beside them.

It mattered little, because Clint stood, suddenly aware something was definitely amiss. He looked around the room for the other three. Steve was no longer taking numbers, Thor and Tony had run off too. But the biggest worry was what stayed on the counter. Thor's hammer. It was unlikely all three went for a manly bathroom break together. They didn't leave on their own power either, Steve would have grabbed Clint too.

"Hey, what was she saying?" Clint asked, scanning the room again as if his eyes were busted and he'd somehow missed the three biggest drawls in the club.

Emory shrugged, pushing Stacy over until the woman was passed out on the top of the table. "Said your friends took off, had some guys with them in black uniforms."

Something wasn't stacking up. Clint pulled out his cell phone, checking for any missed calls from Pepper. Nothing. A third time his eyes swept the room but still came up empty handed. It was business as usual when the life of the party strolls out the door. Some women were holding Steve's makeshift dance tickets and looking around with disappointment. Men continued to climb the bar to pull on the hammer.

"Hey, stick here for a second." Clint said over his shoulder. "I've got to go check something. Don't leave."

"Uh, yeah, sure." Emory said. "Everything all right?"

He didn't answer, instead he headed swiftly across the room to the center of the bar. He conferred with the bartender for a minute or two, but it was obvious he did not like the information he was getting. He returned to the corner table shortly after the hurried talk.

"Look," he began saying before he even reached them, "Get your friend and get out of here. Out of the city too. Head back to Philly, don't stop along the way. You got a car?"

Suddenly frightened, Emory could only manage a small nod.

"I'll help you get to it. See anyone, keep driving. I'm serious. Even if someone crashes into you, keep driving. Do you understand me?"

The intensity in his words was enough for her terror to spike. Her mouth went done dry. But she nodded anyway. "Yes," she said

"Anyone else with you?"

"No."

"Good." Clint slipped his body under Stacy's and got her to her feet. With Emory trailing behind with her hands full of purses, keys, and shoes, they stalked across the club and out into the open night air. In the time they spent inside, the August air had taken a sudden dip for winter. The hundred plus degree day shot down to sixty, enough for any city to feel like a frozen waste land. Emory was shaking in her miniskirt as she barefooted her way behind Clint. Even injured with a drunk woman in his grasp he was making a good speed. She found herself running ahead to point out which car was theirs. In less then three minutes the two girls were loaded, the car was in drive, and Clint was standing by the driver's window.

"Remember what I said, get out of the city and don't stop. Got it?" Clint drilled.

"Yeah, I got it. I swear." Her eyes fell a little, looking at the arrowhead in his right hand still. She had to ask. "Is everything going to be ok? With you, and your friends?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know who took off with them. Not our guys, I know that. I smell trouble, and trouble for us is like global catastrophe trouble. So get going." He stepped away from the window, giving her enough room to swing the car around. As he watched the taillights pulling away with the girl he would probably never see again behind the wheel, he couldn't help himself.

"Hey! Thanks, Emory!" he shouted. It was a moment of weakness. An uncharacteristic behavior he would here-to-after blame on the beer. But even with how he explained his actions away, he admitted how good it felt to receive her your-welcome double honk as the car pulled into the street. He turned back towards the club awning as a heavy blanket of clouds moved in, obscuring the half moon from the sky.

Now he had a new goal: to call Pepper and figure out who the Hell had just walked up in a club and kidnapped three Avengers without a scene.

* * *

now here's the fun parts:) banner will join us in the next chapter. Emory is totally OC, named after a favorite professor of mine. honestly i don't know where she came from. but what the heck?

Its sad that steve can't get drunk, but i make it so that he knows full well of that fact, but the others do not. i maybe have more fun with that in future books.

I was trying to figure out the name of the bank girl, but i couldn't find it anyplace. in the future i may adjust the name in the previous chapter to say "Beth" instead. thanks for the tip!


	9. 2:00 AM

_**Author Note: **PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN SLIGHTLY REVISED! i am ashamed to admit my horrid shortcomings in the development of Captain America. I am usually a proficient at keeping true to character (a feature i work tirelessly on, including studying a map of Manhattan for three days to accurately describe every club/street sign/ and area around Stark Tower) but sadly it has been much longer then i realized since i saw his movie and many details have been grossly skewed. thanks to my awesome reviewer, i am back on track. I have updated the girl he meets name to be "Beth" instead of Cherri and he is no longer a good forties dancer. thanks! please feel free to keep me informed with any other plot abnormalities. i really do listen and adjust as needed. THANKS!  
_

* * *

**Titanium Hawkeye**

**2:00 AM**

Pepper hadn't seen Natasha Romanov in over four hours, at least. It could have been as long as seven. Banner was at the Tower, or he was until his assistance was required at Clint's side. The suddenly cold August night had opened up into a torrential downpour. The archer stood outside, holding up the wall like a self-torturing nut. It was eating him apart how he'd let the group slip right through his fingers and disappear without a trace.

Then again, disappear was a little harsh of a term. He had plenty of witnesses. A good trail to follow to. What he lacked was weaponry and man power. When he checked in with Pepper, he'd arranged to have Banner sent over for back up. It didn't hurt to ask for a few guns to go with him. Clint was still off limits from using his bow, but with some steady convincing he made it impossible to be left behind on the find-the-Avengers mission. He was a scout, and the best one SHIELD had. If anyone could find them in the city, Clint could.

It troubled him as well that Natasha was nowhere to be found. Even with the prospect of violence on the horizon, she'd taken off. Clint thought about calling her. No doubt she had her cell, she wasn't an idiot. After debating back and forth, he dialed the number he had already memorized. The phone never even rang on his end before she snapped across the line.

"_**What** do you want?" _

Taken aback at the instant snarl he was hit with, Clint reeled for something to say. Nothing came quick enough, so Natasha just kept on herself.

"_If you're looking for a car, forget it. Give your flunky a free ride in the bathroom stall and barter your own trip back to the Tower. Got it?"_

Clint pushed off the wall. He stood with his hand to his opposite ear, drowning out the constant thrum of rain. Maybe he was just hearing her wrong. "Nat, what are you talking about?"

"_**What am I talking about**_? _**REALLY**__, Barton? Get a frickin clue and get off my case. You're lucky I'm not still there right now or I'd kick your white a—"_

"You were here?" Clint cried. "When did you show up?"

"_Right before you made a fool of yourself, and right after you decided to grind some random chick into the dance floor. You know what, I'm turning around right now, and I am going to hurt you. If you're not at the hospital right now like you should be, get ready for a real pain, Barton."_

"What the Hell, Natasha? What's the big deal?" Clint yelled.

The last thing he heard was a pistol cocking after the safety switch was popped off. Natasha had hung up on him, and she wasn't exactly in a playful mood. Clint had no idea what had her panties tied into a knot, but he was better off avoiding her in the situation then waiting around to convince her to help look for the other three. Besides, one of Tony's drivers was just pulling up. The back door popped open by Banner's hand and Clint dropped into the back seat beside him. Agent Romanov's crazy mood swing was going to have to wait.

"Waiting long?" Banner asked. He seemed relaxed for now, but Clint knew it was all a mask. Any minute now and the roof would peel back and reveal the two-thousand pound Hulk.

"Not long enough for Nat." Clint replied. "But that's a separate issue right now." Clint leaned forward to the driver. "Head South on Varick, then put us on 12th street toward the Brooklyn Bridge. And step on it, or else get out and I'll drive."

The man didn't have to be told twice. His foot hit the gas and in no time they were driving into the rain storm.

"How's the internal bleeding?" Banner asked next. His tone was somewhat sardonic. It was obvious how much he did not approve about Clint's all day task of getting himself put on the closest liver transplant list.

"Great." Barton replied as he settled back into his seat. "Wanna share? I can arrange it."

Bruce decided to let the topic drop. He'd get his way, eventually, and Clint would end up on the flat of his back without a choice of whether he should stay that way or not. When the time came, an "I told you so" would not be long after. He held his criticism for then.

"You told Pepper something was up. Something serious." Bruce restarted the conversation on a separate track.

"Yeah. And that's an understatement. Some group walked out of the bar with Thor, Tony, and the Cap in tow. Each went willingly. Thor left Mjolnir at the bar. I'd have brought it along if the dang thing would let me."

"OK, I get that he loves it, but he does kind of get forgetful too. I mean, it fell to the bottom of the Atlantic one day and he was able to just call it back from the Arctic Circle." Bruce pointed out.

"How do you explain the group of secret agent men that strolled out the front door with them?" Clint posed.

"How do you know it wasn't SHIELD? Did they flash their badges? Say hi?"

"They left me there. If it was SHIELD, they would have said something to me."

"This would make sense if it was SHIELD because you technically aren't cleared for duty, but Tony half is."

Bruce again was the simple-speaking analytical one of the group. A mixture of Steve Rogers with just enough Tony Stark thrown in, made him both likeable, and not a total egomaniac. But that didn't mean he wasn't annoying when he was right. Bruce knew he was pushing the guy's buttons, so he let off him a bit.

"All right. Let's reconsider this. What do you think is going on here?" he asked. His glasses came off his nose and he rubbed the ridge forming between his eyes.

"I think the same guys gunning for Stark and me off the African Coast are taking advantage of the first chance they have to get him alone. The others are just icing." Clint replied. He was still just working on the whole back story behind what was happening. Ill-fitting pieces to some bigger puzzle were being smashed together in his brain. The end result was not the cute little target poster he was planning on, but it was a place to start at least.

Banner sighed. "Wherever they are, Tony better get back by nine sharp or else the Secretary of State will have him in a second sling. How is it every time I turn around that guy is getting out of this stupid summit meeting?"

Clint looked at Banner. After a moment, Banner looked back.

"Ok, let's not tell anyone about that little brain fart ok?" Bruce said. "So some secret agent society is keeping Tony, Cap, and Thor from the defense summit. Twice now. What are we going to do about it?"

"Easy, Find them, and kill them."

* * *

THIS CHAPTER WAS SHORT! so to make up for its length, i will be posting the next chapter immediately. thank you!

Clintasha fans: OMG relax. it will get "there". i am like a fine cup of tea. i take a while to get things brewing but never leave you dissapointed. i hope this chapter was a little insight to that for you.


	10. 3:41 AM

**Titanium Hawkeye**

**3:41 AM**

TWO chapters have just been posted! so if you are reading this and you have missed the 2:00AM chapter, stop now and go back or you WILL be disappointed!(note:the author note is stuck here for all those out there who like to skip reading them, so take that!) (now the story continues:::::Clint Barton pressed his back into a large stone column. His head was turned sideways just enough to allow his one eye to look into the pit below him. Tracking the secret agents was easy for him. Any local PD or beat cops couldn't have missed the obvious signs the Captain had left along the way. A demolished street sign, a car flipped on its side, and one unconscious guy hanging from a pole was a rather useful bread crumb trail to follow. After that came the blood trail. It was impossible to know at the time whose blood it was although Thor was unlikely.

Now, Bruce and Barton sank into the end-of-the-line subway station beside the New York Bay. It was obvious the place had been abandoned for a while, at least since the sub lines had been rerouted three or four years ago. There was an upper access way framed in red brick that circled over the end-of-the-line tunnel like a massive loft. The loft was shaped like a horseshoe and gave a perfect vantage point to the scene below them. Not to mention it was a great place for the three snipers sharing the space with them. The forth sniper was passed out in the stairwell a few steps away. Since Banner had decidedly left all useful sniper rifles behind, Clint had the unconscious goon's gun instead.

Bruce sat beside him, still wearing the mask of calm that kept the big guy from tearing the place apart. "So, what's going on?" he asked quietly.

Clint shrugged one shoulder. He turned and whispered into his ear. "I don't know. They've got Cap strung up in something. He can't get out, which is impressive, and apparently he's the one they shot."

Bruce stiffened a little, but with a quick inhale-exhale calmed again. "Ok, not too big a deal. He heals quick."

Clint agreed, but for now didn't decide to share the fact that Steve Rogers had been shot about forty five times. He was gasping and hanging like a lifeless puppet as seven men stood by and waited for him to recover enough to get shot again. At this point, Clint was not about to share those intimate details. He wanted enough time to asses the situation without Hulk smashing everything.

"What about Thor?" Banner whispered.

Clint checked the scene again, and then turned to report back. "That's another weird one. They've got him on something that looks like a massive magnet. He's not even trying to get up. Never seen him like it."

Banner's face twisted a little, surprised. His scientific mind was reeling with possible physics answers for the strange occurrence. For now he showed a little self restraint and asked about Stark.

Clint didn't even need to look. The first person he spied out was Tony. The person he came after, really came after, was Tony. The only one down there he cared about as a physical brother was Tony.

"Don't freak out." Clint whispered.

Bruce flashed green, his hands turned to fists. But he remained calm. "Bruce Banner, Hulk, Avenger, scientist . . ." he began to mouth to himself. Clint waited. It was the same technique he used to keep his own mind from shattering to pieces.

"Say it." Bruce commanded. His voice was deeper with more of a growl behind it.

"Sure you want—"

Bruce's eyes snapped pen. They had gone from the simple geeky-science-nerd to a hard and deathly black. Clint figured it was going to be a bad idea to share any intimate details, so he tried to keep it simple to hold the Hulk in a little longer.

The fate of the world should never be left in his hands. Maybe Tony Stark's, possibly even Thor's, but never his. There was a certain level of responsibility that comes from having every living creature in the room relying on you to make that right call that causes another being's head to possibly implode. Clint Barton did not feel like having so much at stake resting on only his shoulders. He was in a place out of reach, beyond help, and had all of 3.5 seconds to make the _right_ call. No Coulson was there to guide him. No SHIELD operatives took up his place to bark in his ear the word he desperately searched for. So he had to make that choice himself.

He whispered and told the truth. "They're running him under a faucet." He half lied. In actuality, the unknown men down there had Tony on his back with a soaked towel over his face as they let all of New York Bay pour over his mouth and nose. Stark's worse fear.

Bruce was not one to glaze over facts. Stark was as close a friend to the scientist as he was to Clint. "They're water boarding him?"

Clint swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed as he weighed what the result of his answer might be. No use in keeping it from the guy when he could just stand up and look for himself. "Uh, yes. They ARE—"

His final word rose from the whisper he first intended on to an exclamation of fear. If there was one guy the secret agents should have nabbed first, it was Bruce Banner. Clint could be knocked out. Natasha could be locked up. Tony could be water boarded. The Captain could be shot (a few thousand times). And Thor . . .well whatever they did to him was special or magical, or whatever the Hell it was.

None of that shined a light to what they should have done to Bruce Banner. Or, more importantly, what they should have done to the Incredible Hulk. Clint didn't want the part time doctor going green so quick. Barton wanted the opportunity to snipe a few guys first and even the odds a little. Or maybe get a better idea of what they were up against to begin with. But that was no where on the Hulk's agenda. He knew one thing and one thing alone.

Smash.

"Really!" Clint shouted at the green back as it crushed through the brick column and leaped down into the subway tunnel below them. "I say take it easy and you go green! Nice job!"

Obviously the Hulk heard him complaining because the next thing Clint found himself dodging was the flying body of a black-clad goon. The guy hit the wall as Clint just managed to duck down in time to avoid catching the body in his face. Clint considered shooting the Hulk in the back. Not because he thought it would hurt the guy, but he was pretty dang frustrating when he wanted to be.

Instead, Clint had much more pressing issues. Like the fact that three other snipers were changing aim from the three Avengers helpless below them to the one with the sniper rifle. Barton had the time to think the word _crap_, before he lifted his stolen gun and took out the sniper farthest away. The other two converged their fire and the mortar just in front of Clint erupted in a hail of shrapnel.

He hit the floor on his stomach with his hands over his head. The Hulk had left little more then a two-inch lip for him to hide behind. If he didn't get moving now, he was going to be sniper bait.

"Hulk!" he screamed. "I'm gonna kill you, you big stupid ogre!"

* * *

The Hulk went for Tony first. The guys holding him down had already abandoned their charge in order to pull their side arms and start shooting. It was almost laughable, really. Four of them fit nicely in Hulk's left hand while three others fit in his right. Without much ceremony he picked them up and hurled them at the stone loft directly in front of him. There were still two shooters up there making little nuisances of themselves and he had gotten tired of hearing Clint yelling at him about them. The men in his left hand pummeled flat the one sniper. The men in his right hand took out the second. Hulk doubted if any of them were alive that they'd be much trouble now.

With them out of the way, the rest of the room of cronies was left to him. There were probably another forty-five on the short side. An apparent leader stood beside the Captain. She wasn't unlike Agent Romanov, which was scary enough to think of. Her hair was stark blond, and her eyes crystalline blue and sharp as ice. A rather large and unfamiliar gun was in her hand. It was trained on the Captain's temple.

"Great." Clint said.

The Hulk looked down, having paused for a moment to decide who he was going to demolish first. Somehow Clint had gotten himself the thirty feet down from the upper loft to the ground level. He was now standing by the Hulk's foot as the archer stared the woman down. The Hulk for a little while measured the distance up and down with his eyes, as if trying to figure out how, short of flying, Clint had managed to scramble down relatively unnoticed and unscathed. even as Clint started talking, the Hulk continued his bobbing head up and down, up and down as if trying to make it all out.

"We've been invaded by the Playboy mansion." Clint went on. "Cap, really? Germans? I thought we talked you through this war already."

Steve's head was down against his chest. He couldn't raise it no matter how hard he tried. So Clint instead imagined the guy looking up and smiling at him.

The woman turned the gun now. It was focused instead on Clint which was exactly how he wanted his move to play.

"Look," Clint went on. "Don't know who you are. Don't really care either to be positively honest. So here's the bargain. Step off now, or I'm gonna let the big guy here do what he does best and turn your face inside out."

The Hulk took some offense at Clint presuming to be able to order him at all. So he leaned down and roared in the archer's ear. Then he straightened up again and waited to see what would happen. He really did want to rip the woman in half, but if Clint thought they could avoid that, he supposed it was a good thing.

Clint did not appreciate being screamed at, but he tried to look unaffected like it happened all the time. Obviously it made the woman, whoever she was, think twice. Her hand still held the gun toward him but now it was vibrating with a tremor she couldn't quite hide.

"You do not know us." She finely spoke, her accent decidedly German in origin.

"Uh, if that was a question, then the answer is no." Clint replied, matching her dead pan with his own.

"Come any closer, and ve vill kill your men." She went on. "You cannot stop vat ve plan vith thees city. In tventy minutes ve vill vire thees entire place to explode and New York vill be svallowed by thee sea!"

Clint actually chuckled a little. "Yeah, see, that's not gonna happen. And I'll give you one reason why." He pointed a finger at the tree-sized leg beside him. "That's a mighty big elephant in the room. Twenty minutes, really? We were driving around following you for like and hour and a half. you couldn't get it done by then, its just not happening"

"You can not stop us now, Clint Barton." She snarled. "You and your freaks may try, but ve are a vast netvork. You can not stop what we have in motion. You may vin thees round. But Hydra never loses the var."

"Hate to break it to you, but Hydra did lose the war. Like, eighty years ago,_ sie dumm fuhrt_." Clint replied.

At his insult, the woman allowed her flare of anger to over take her. She squeezed the trigger and as the bullet flew toward Clint's eye socket .The Hulk reached out and snatched the thing from the air.

"Ok." Clint said, as nonchalant as ever. "Hulk, smash."

The room erupted in movement. The members of Hydra shot towards the Hulk without any real way of stopping him. As efficiently as they took down the three Avengers in their grasp, they were completely inefficient against the unstoppable Hulk coming against them. They were sadly unprepared.

Clint resigned himself to covering the other three. Tony was most susceptible to cover fire. Without his iron suit, he was just another mere mortal waiting to take a ricochet. Clint was beside him in a second, working frantically at the handcuffs that had him bolted across two train rails. He looked like a maiden in distress about to be ravaged by Snidley Whiplash. Of course that would make Clint Dudly Do-Right.

"Come on, Secret Squirrel, your hero's come to save you." Clint said with a grin plastered across his face. He pulled the towel off Tony's head and now that he was free, Clint expected all the felicitations that the billionaire would like to bestow. He did not expect the sudden fury with which Tony went launching into the air. Stark's hand clamped around Clint's throat, threw him against the train rail, and proceeded to squeeze until the archer's vision blurred.

An explosion of pain shot through the archer's side until he was seeing stars. The dull ache he had lived with all day long in his attempt to ignore what was likely (at this point) an inconsequential little liver bruising had now become an issue. A big issue. Desperately Barton grabbed at Tony's hand, barking his name in cries of terror as he tried to get the man to let him go.

"Stark!" He screamed. His voice was barely audible as his vocal cords collapsed into each other. He had to admit, Tony was stronger then he looked. More often then not the guy seemed like a waif of a human whose soul power resided in his mechanical tinkerings. People tended to take him for granted because of that. They often forgot the hours of defense training he put in.

"Stark!" he tried again, beating Tony's hand with his fist. "I—s me! Its . . . Hawk! Stark!"

Tony kept pressing him down, his whole body resting on the one hand that was squeezing the life out of his friend. His eyes were unfocused, the same faraway look Clint so often had was fixed in the gaze of his friend. Tony had no idea what he was doing. He was petrified beyond reason. The water boarding threw him right of insanity cliff and he was falling like a rock to the very bottom of reality.

All Clint saw as his vision folded into blackness was the bloodshot eyes of his cohort in crime slowly strangling him.

The Hulk roared and suddenly the weight was lifted off his chest. For a few precious minutes Clint could do nothing but cough and heave and puke against the rusty rail ties. A few feet away was Tony Stark, right where the Hulk had plopped him down. The big guy did it gently at least, and Tony didn't look any worse for wear. Even if he was still terrified out of his mind.

Hulk stood between them. Looking first at Clint and then at Tony as if wondering what to do with them. The shooting had stopped. Most of the Hydra members were either littering the tunnel like discarded Ken dolls or they had taken off through some strange underwater tunnel. Either way, the Hulk had not decided to follow them. It was an unusual decision for a monster that was not typically known for making decisions at all.

"Thanks." Clint said when he could finely speak. His voice came out hoarse. "He's all right. Think I spooked him. Go get Thor off that whatever-it-is."

The Hulk looked over at the Asgardian who had yet to move from his curled up position on the giant silver dish not a few meters away.

"And don't hurt him!" Clint clarified. "I know you don't like him, but be nice, all right. I've got enough issues."

The Hulk gave him an annoyed snort. "Keep saying rules." He growled. "Don't listen to you."

Clint stuck his tongue out at him. He must still be drunk if he was actively going to stand there and pick a fight with the Hulk. "Oh, stop being a mean Joe! Just go and pick him up or something, I don't know. Or do you want to go break out the Captain?"

The Hulk looked over at Captain America. He was still hanging by his arms. His shirt was relatively nonexistent except for the shreds his blood kept plastered to his chest. "Too messy." The Hulk concluded.

"Fine. I'll get messy, you be nice to Thor. And if you throw him through a wall or something, then so help me . . ." Clint trailed off, not coming up with an effective threat right off the top of his head.

The Hulk stood there, waiting for him to come up with something.

"I won't talk to you for a week." Clint decided on. "So there. How's them apples? Go help Thor."

The Hulk rolled his eyes, but went off toward the Asgardian anyway. "Stupid threat." He said, loud enough that Clint could hear him.

"Yeah, I don't care right now." Clint yelled back. He hobbled toward the Captain with a hand holding the hot pain radiating through his back. Yeah, that wasn't a good sign. Neither was the fact that all his brain seemed to want was to make his vision fuzzy. He tensed his muscles, willing away another horrid wrack of familiar agony beofre he overcame himself enough to get to Steve. He walked stiffly up the short high rise to the heavy metal cuffs that completely clamped over the Captain's hands and feet. The guy looked like a scene out of the cartoon they were watching that morning. Was it really only that morning? It seemed like years ago.

"Hey, Cap, how's it shaking?" Clint asked, using his hands to lift his commanding officer's head. "You still alive in there?"

As Steve's head lifted up it held a hard grimace. The guy could feel pain that much was true. Whether or not he could ever die remained to be seen. "Ow." He managed.

"That all you got to say for yourself? Ow?" Clint smirked. "You gonna help me get you out of these sci-fi cuffs or am I on my own here?"

"Sorry." Steve replied, his eyes closing again.

"Didn't think so." Clint grabbed his trusty piece of random electrical wire and started on the cuffs over Steve's feet first. Hard as they were, popping the locks was relatively simple when he found out exactly where the locking mechanism was located. As he started on the handcuffs, he glanced over at the Hulk's progress. Thor was off of the metal disk, but it didn't seem to help matters any. He was just as lifeless looking as before. At least now Clint could see the Asgardian breathing. He counted that in the bonus column. What detracted a little from the smallest of victories was the look the Hulk was giving him. Clint was beginning to doubt that "Hulk Smash" was finished.

"Hey, big guy? What I say? No smash Thor." Clint ordered. With the first hand free, Steve collapsed. One arm dangled over his head as his body gave up on him. Clint struggled to hold him in one hand as a pain of his own threatened to knock him off his feet.

"Crap, crap, crap." He growled under his breath. "Hey, Green, if you're done with alien-guy get over here and help me with the Captain. Or do me one better and give be Banner back so he can go all medical and helpful."

The Hulk mumbled disapprovingly but he stomped over. With two ginger fingers he pinched the captain by the chest and back. When Steve cried out in shock of the sudden pain of his forty-five separate injuries, the Hulk unceremoniously dropped him again. Clint had just finished with the last handcuff. In the end both tumbled to the brick floor in a pile of limp agony.

"Hulk!" Clint snarled. "That was the complete opposite of helpful!"

In response, the Hulk could say nothing. He was looking disturbingly at his blood covered fingers, with a feeling he could only describe as regret eking into his mind. But that made no real sense. He never felt that. Only anger and disgust and utter hatred. Right now, Clint Barton was being a little more then a nuisance. He was actually insulting! Why then did he feel bad about letting the guy down? He was not about to say he was sorry. But he wasn't sure what he should do. So he leaned forward with his two bloody fingers and smeared them down Clint's back. At least that made him feel a little better.

Clint kicked his hand away. "Really? You know what? Get out." Clint leaped to his feet and physically pushed the Hulk toward the tunnel entrance he could hardly fit down. "Just get out! _I'll_ handle this, you just go find an ambulance or something, ok? If you're not going to be helpful and turn back into Bruce, then _go get me someone who __**can**__ be useful_!"

The Hulk tried to turn, he even opened his mouth as if to say something in response, or growl, or just pick up the little archer and hurl him against a wall, but instead he found himself tossing a helpless hand into the air and doing just what Clint said. Along the way he might just figure out why he was listening at all!

Clint turned away from the retreating green monster. He rubbed a hand into the steady stab in his back. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was slamming a fist against the back of Tony's head.

Tony. Yeah, that was something else he was going to have to deal with.

"How you holding up, Cap?" Clint asked. Figured the guy who was bleeding most needed the most urgent attention. Steve was still prone on the subway floor. His breathing was thready and erratic. He looked like a train had run him over then backed up and hit him again. Stopping the bleeding was the most important thing at the moment, but it was hard to tell with Steve's unique physiology if that would help him or hurt him.

"Hey, you ok? Captain, I wouldn't mind you saying something. Steve? Hey, Steve?" Clint was a little more then concerned now. He wasn't sure what he could do. By the second Steve was looking more and more like crap. Suddenly Clint wished the Hulk had stayed around, at least until he could coax Banner back out of him.

Clint looked over to Tony. Any help at this point was better then none. But Stark was wedged against the far wall. He rocked back and forth, his body shook all over as he coughed intermittently in a sickening way.

"Tony?" Clint tried. "Tony, you gotta help me. The Captain needs us, can you help me? Tony? Come on, it's Clint. Your fine, now get over here and help me!"

Tony didn't even glance in his direction. He kept rocking and shaking all by himself.

Clint knew it was a lost cause, at least until after Pepper got a hold of him. Instead he looked imploringly at Thor. The guy's foot was starting to twitch. That was a better sign. Clint made the decision to get up for only a moment. He rushed to Thor's side. Maybe there was some way he could rouse the Asgardian back to life a little quicker. But "rush" wasn't quite the word for what Clint actually did. He started out fast, launching up from his heels before a sick wave flipped his brain like an omelet. Clint staggered forward until he almost bounced his face off the floor. Hands, knees, and sure determination carried him the remaining three feet until he was perched over Thor.

The first thing he did was slap him in the face. Not hard, but just enough to send a message.

Thor's eyes focused in awareness. He could hear even see, but whatever Hydra had done to him was paralytic. He was going to be just as useless as Tony, at least for a little while longer.

From his spot on the floor, Steve moaned. Just another addition to Clint's lengthening list of worries. He was missing Banner. Even a mad Natasha was a fitting alternative at this point. Clint pulled out the cell phone Pepper had given him in order to at least give her a call. He realized real quick that his hope was dead before he could even dial. Pepper's phone had been smashed. Most likely when Tony body-slammed him into the train track. Thor didn't have a phone. Tony did.

Clint dragged himself to his feet, slower and more mindful this time. After not making a swift return trip to the floor, he managed to get within two feet of Tony Stark. That's as close as he got. Without anyone to pull Stark off him again, Clint wasn't about to push his luck. So, defeated, he went back to Steve and sat over him with his hands working to stop the already slowing bleeding. If the Captain was supposed to start looking healthier, he wasn't. In fact, he was death-white and no healthier looking then the four years before when they pulled him from the ice. Clint was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when at long last the Hulk made a dramatic reentrance.

Half the ceiling sheered up and out as one of three subsequent ambulances were dropped through the fresh hole and hit the floor below. Clint had to hide his face temporarily as he watched them stack precariously around Thor's prone form. The Hulk and Thor never did get on the same page. Some days it was like they wanted to kill each other. Well, more the Hulk wanted to kill Thor then the other way around. The caped alien was really a good egg in the end, but something in his mind wanted to see which of the two could be the last man standing. That was all Hulk needed to be on a permanent grudge match.

Thank fully, today The Hulk did not drop an ambulance on Thor's head. But that did not mean Banner's alter ego was out of hot water either.

Clint threw his hands in the air as the Hulk dropped through the hole, sending the ambulances bouncing on their wheels. "What the Hell is this?" Clint shouted. "I was being sarcastic! I didn't want you to drag me an entire ambulance! Let alone three of them!"

There was that look again, the surprised dropped-jaw Hulk.

"Got help!" The Hulk defended himself.

Clint rubbed a hand over his eyes, forgetting the fact he was probably smearing the Captain's blood all over his face. "You know what, whatever. I don't care. Grab Thor and throw him in the back on one, all right?"

The Hulk grumbled a little, but acquiesced at last.

"And I don't mean literally throw him in!" Clint clarified. Already the terrified paramedics were tripping their way out of the safety of their locked front cab to survey the scene they'd been thrust into. Behind them, the Hulk was groaning in displeasure as he tore the door off the back on an ambulance and less-then-carefully plopped Thor half on a gurney.

Clint, unaffected by the chaos he was surrounded by acted only as the happy introducer. He waved and grinned at the medics, beckoning them closer. "Hi! Yes, we are the Avengers. Captain America has been shot and needs critical care like, now. Tony Stark is suffering some PTSD. Just shoot him up with some lithium right now. Thor's coming around in the back of your bus already. Give us a few minutes and Bruce Banner's sure to turn up and require a little TLC too."

There were six paramedics. They sort of stood in a shocked cluster, looking around them at the improbable situation they had been dropped into. One, obviously a Manhattan attack veteran, steps forward as if to take charge of the situation.

"And what's your story then?" he asks, already pointing the others in various directions.

Clint grinned. "Me? I'm Clint Barton, Hawkeye. SHIELD agent, Avenger, Good guy. I might be bleeding internally, but don't worry. I am Titanium."

* * *

soooooo that should hold you over for a day or two. or fifteen. decided to have more erratic updates this time. sorry. if i had steadier reviewers, i may have steadier updates. booyah.

review now, or no soup for you.


	11. 4:49 AM

**Author note: **you have been good, so here you go!

**Titanium Hawkeye**

**4:49AM**

He wanted to ride with Tony. But seeing as the back of that ambulance was full of three oversized EMS trying to get the guy strapped to the bed of a gurney the probability of going in that ambulance was unlikely. Thor's sheer mass encompassed a good amount of another ambulance by himself and while there was still more then enough room to accommodate Clint, he decided he wasn't in the mood to answer all the medics' questions about his otherworldly friend. That left one option, which was how Clint ended up riding in the bus with the captain. Not because he necessarily wanted to, but he had no other choice. The hulk was not about to carry him to the hospital and Clint was not in the position to walk there himself either.

So he sat in the small bench seat pressed between the front passenger seat and the medic who was looking over Rogers. The guy looked better at least. His face was a little more life like and the bleeding was definitely dulling to a slow trickle. The hulk had just lifted the ambulance back to the street level and sent them on their way. Clint could see the big guy lumbering behind them, walking towards the hospital as well.

"Internal bleeding, huh?" The medic asked nonchalantly. It was the same man who was speaking earlier to him. The name tag read Joe. A generic form for what was most certainly a Jose. "You know that for certain, or is it a guess?"

"Hey, said I'm titanium. Nothing much wrong with me so stop starring like I'm gonna end up on my back to." Clint warned him. He sat back against the passenger seat. He wanted to close his eyes and rest at last but that was a sure way to get himself precisely in the position he did not want to be in.

"Yeah, fire away, fire away. I know that song to, but singing doesn't make you bullet proof either." Joe said.

"Yeah but my vest does." Clint countered with.

"You smell like booze and you're wearing club clothes. Last time I checked Hanes didn't make Kevlar shirts."

"So now what, you're a detective?" Clint growled. He was tired, had the beginnings of a hangover, and his back was really starting to kill him. The last thing he felt like having was a round of twenty questions. He could have driven with Thor if that's what he was after.

Joe held up his hands in an I'll-back-off sort of way. "Hey, look. I'm here to help, all right. Looks like you're getting paler then the guy that got fifty shots to the chest. Now I don't like guys passing out and dying in the back of my bus. So if its all the same to you I hope you don't mind a little professional courtesy. At least let me hook you to an IV or something. Ill make it real simple."

The thought of an IV, or any other needle like implement that was no doubt surrounding him on all side right now was all it took to turn Clint's stomach. Joe saw it coming and just managed to grab the waste bin before three blue motorcycles made a return trip past Clint's tonsils. Then came the all too familiar mind splitting headache followed by such a heavy spell of lightheadedness he thought he might pass out. But he couldn't let that happen. Not when Joe the EMS guy was digging through the overhead bins looking for the right catheter to jab through Clint's hands.

* * *

ok so this was short, so i will give you another chapter


	12. 4:55 AM

**Author note: **remember! i posted 2 chapters so go back and read the other before you think this is it:)

**Titanium Hawkeye**

**4:55 AM**

He never really lost consciousness. More then anything his mind was held in a sort of limbo between awake and asleep. He could hear someone's voices overhead. One was calm and relaxed, the other frantic, high pitched, and held a hint of murderous intent. he couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but right now he didn't feel like that really mattered. The back of his eyelids were so much more interesting.

* * *

muhahaha so i didn't lie. but this one is short too. sorry. :)


	13. 5:16 AM

**Author note: **yes, that was mean of me. i admit it. so here is the next (longer) chapter for you.

* * *

**Titanium Hawkeye**

**5:16AM**

The world had shifted. He felt himself rolling along some strange new place. The feeling was one of safety, but apprehension was intermixed throughout. He had the sinking feeling that someone close to him was in danger but he wasn't sure who, or why. And why was no one else helping him through it?

Steve Rogers opened his eyes, unable to stand the peculiar tension any longer. It seemed as if the moment they snapped open the entire world around him came crashing into view with a cacophony of sights and sounds. Screaming was first. Both men and women shouting orders at each other and a patient a few beds down. Everyone was dressed in that strange hospital garb Tony referred to as "joy killers". Anyone wearing them could suck the fun right out of life and explain why even basic tasks like turning over a car engine could spell death in three easy steps. Steve didn't know much about that idea, but he took Tony at his word for it. The Captain knew a lot of Florence Nightingales in his day, none of them were the blushing dames he'd been lead to believe they were.

Now there was one solid mass of blues, greens, and burgundy scrub wearers all shoved in a corner fighting off a guy they had obviously underestimated the strength of. His first guess made him consider Thor. The guy looked like an average Joe but he packed on hell of a wallop when he needed it. After assessing the scene, the Captain had to consider if it was beneficial to try and throw himself into that fray or not, for the hospital staff's sake.

He figured he'd just as soon stear clear. Weakness still made his limbs too heavy to carry and trying to talk down the Asgardian (who no doubt was disapproving of his ill treatment) was not the top of Steve's get well list. Let the staff handle him. Eventually they'd get the idea to just let him be and all the ruckus would cut out.

But then something unexpected happened. A gurney went flying by him, opposite of where world war three was in full swing. That new bed held the red-draped body of the alien friend. Thor was positively sedate looking. He was propped up, with a strangely limp look on his face and his hands lying parallel with his body. It was as if a paralysis had overtaken him and he had yet to recover from it. But if Thor was there, quietly waiting to be of any use, then who was everyone fighting with? And why was security now rushing over with their cuffs in their hands? The smallest glance was all he needed. As two nurses separated, one tossed to the floor as the other flung about for a better position, Rogers got a good look at the guy throwing the ER into a tailspin.

And of course it was Clint Barton.

All the noise of people screaming and doctors' ordering finally made it through Steve mental filters. With a crash it hit him what was going on.

_"Sir, stay still! This is for you're own good! Stop fighting, you are going to be all right!"_

_"Give me that strap and get this guy tied down!"_

_"Stop struggling!" _

_"I cant hit his vein like this, we need to knock him out!"_

_"Just hand me the catheter and move over! Sir, stop moving or we'll stop you ourselves!"_

_ "His packed cell volume is still falling, we need him in surgery ASAP!"_

_ "Just tell them to hold the suit. They cant do jack if he is still conscious anyway!" _

_"I AM NOT knocking this patient out until he is under control!"_

_"I still cant get this needle placed!"_

Steve's level of alarm was swinging off the charts as he watched the horror crossing over Clint's face. The guy was beyond terrified, he was in full blown panic mode. Not exactly the best thing to deal with when an assassin is brewing under his cold exterior. The nurses were already well aware of that as six of them ended up of the floor clutching various body parts in agony. Unable to voice his fears, Clint did little more then continued to fight tooth and nail against everyone coming over to him. One security guard was not above just pulling out his tazer...

"STOP!" Steve shouted. "Stop, just let off him! Do you hear me! Get off him!" The Captain tried to sound like his normal self, but only half the strength seemed to hit him. When it was obvious the hospital staff were determined to ignore him, the Captain grabbed the first joy-killer that passed his bed in an iron grasp. He ordered them in a way he was never denied to drag his bed closer until he and Clint were virtually side by side. The nurse he grabbed was skeptical, but Steve didn't really give her a choice in the matter. It was either do was Steve said, or the guy was going to pull out Tony's award winning get-what-you-want-from-anyone line. Steve was going to scream "rape." And coming from Captain America in a crowded hospital ER was a level of awkward that nurse was not about to deal with. Over to Clint's bed Steve was dragged. Reluctantly the doctors had backed off for now. But by "retreat" they more or less just let his arms go and stepped back a pace. They still stood there, looking like hungry wolves about to devour an unclaimed fawn.

"Clint?" Steve said. He sat up in his bed, his chest giving him a good old rousting of uncontrolled pain. He ignored it for the archer's sake. "Hey, agent, look at me." Steve ordered. He found his voice again at least. It was forceful enough that Clint's years of soldier training took over and made him listen before he ever made the conscious decision to.

Clint's eyes were large as saucers. He looked like a terrified rabbit trapped in a snare.

Steve reached over and grabbed Clint's hand in his. The back of Clint's hands and the crook of his arms were all covered in miniscule pinpricks that welled with blood droplets. Steve couldn't tell how many time the staff must have stabbed him in the quest for blood or opening a vein for anesthesia and fluids. Rogers wanted to ask if he was ok. But he minded Tony's warning. Clint was most certainly _not_ ok but it helped nothing to point it out. Clint was already emotionally shattered. All that remained for Steve was for him to start putting the pieces back together.

"You lied." Clint said. His voice was an octave too high. He swallowed once or twice, trying to get himself to sound a little more normal. "Coulson never lied."

Steve squeezed his hand a little harder. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean, but I'm sorry."

"_I said stupid drunk_. I didn't get to be _stupid_ drunk before I got to go to the hospital. It's not fair. Not fair."

Steve felt like a fist hit his gut. Crap. The first real promise he made the guy, and Steve blew it, big time. "Ok, I'm sorry. It's true. I will never, _ever_ break another promise again. And when this is over we can go out again and get you **black**-out drunk if you want, I'll help. But look, Barton. I cant stop what they've got to do. All right. You need this or you are going to die and that will let down the entire team. Got me? Say you understand."

Steve had Clint's right hand tightly locked in the Captain's left. That little bit of support was the only thing holding Clint back now.

"Say it, agent." Rogers ordered.

"I ... I understand" Clint stammered.

"Now look. You pick. Look over there and pick one person to trust. I cant put an IV in, I'm no good at it an I'll just screw you up worse. So pick out someone you think you can trust, got me? I don't care if its the hottest dame in the hospital, its your pick. But you got to choose. Right now."

Clint tightened his grip on the Captain. It was ridiculous. He was holding the guy's hand, in front of God and everyone over a stupid needle. But he just couldn't help himself. He was absolutely terrified out of his mind. Suddenly he understood exactly how Tony felt when the guy came around and decided to strangle Clint half to death. But Steve was waiting. Clint had to pick.

"Bruce here?" He asked, his voice getting little steadier. He didn't even want to look at the guys in the white coats. It made things little too realistic.

Steve's eyes flicked to the group standing around long enough to get this answer. "He's still out of it. Hulk's pacing outside the lobby downstairs. Apparently he's being a worry wart. Sorry, Clint."

"Great." Clint mumbled. He glanced at the crew beside him. None of them looked particularly interesting. In fact a few looked like they were in it for revenge sake and that was never a good sign in his book. Then the flash of blue caught him in the corner of his vision. An EMS was standing at the nurse's station filling out paperwork as his driver started to head out the door. Clint recognized the guy instantly. "Him. I want him." He said, almost desperately.

Steve had to sit up a little and twist to see the man. He wasn't sure if the guy was even qualified to do what needed to be done, but at least Barton had made a choice. "You know him?" Steve asked.

"Sort of. Joe? Hey Joe?"

The man picked up his head and turned around to figure out who was calling him. When it was obviously the Avengers team he had the extreme pleasure of transporting earlier, he was all too happy to trot over. Enthusiasm leaked away some when he saw the murderers row look on the hospital staff. But his focus quickly shifted to the Hawk and Captain America.

"Hey," he said. His head gave a short nod at the Captain. "You're looking more lively sir."

"Thanks." Steve replied. "Can you do us both a big favor?"

Joe looked at the row of docs behind him as his mind filtered through the scene. It was obvious Clint was still being just as uncooperative in the hospital as he had been in the back of the ambulance. "What, titanium here busting some other noses?"

Steve gave a questioning look but Hawkeye just shut his eyes, willing away another fit of nausea.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Jo shrugged. "No big. Not broken, this is nice. Besides it gives me little evidence with the misses as to why I am getting home late from my shift. Not sure how else I could get her to believe that I was abducted by the incredible Hulk, thrown into a subway tunnel in lower Manhattan, and treated two Avengers in the back of my ambulance until one of them socked me in the nose."

Steve chuckled some, then his body reminded him that even Captain America was not adverse to pain. So he stopped himself short. "Nice. Sorry about that. I'll even call her if you want. But right now I need another favor if you can manage it."

Joe again looked at the starting line up and the security guards getting ancy. Not far away surgical techs had all the makings of doing an open heart surgery right in the middle or the ER if that is what it came to.

"My friend's scared of needles. But not just scared, ok. He needs help and he wont let anyone at him. I asked him to pick someone to put in his IV and he picked you. Can you do that?" Steve's request was genuine and heartfelt. All-American to the core.

Even if Joe wanted to refuse, after that request there was no way he could. However, the little jab he replied with was not unfounded. "I seem to remember this was how my nose started hurting in the first place."

Clint said a meek apology, but he did not look up. His hand crushed against Steve's. He was lucky Roger's was a lab experiment. Anyone else would be sporting a few broken fingers by now.

Joe eased himself around the bed, grabbing the discarded IV lines and catheter sets left by the crew that still pressed in around him. At any point the docs could pull rank and have him tossed out of the ER but for now some seemed happy just to let some other guy get thrown to the wolves. Spectators circled the end of the bed, ready to jump in or laugh, it was hard to tell which. The over all feeling was one of disbelief. There was no way this guy was going to just waltz in, get the vein, and walk out like it was nothing.

But Joe was willing to try. He was placated by the fact that the Captain was awake, and he was keeping Clint's attention to the best of his ability (and bullet wounds or not, that was pretty darn good). Every three seconds some alarm or other was going off. The heart rate was dangerously high, blood pressure sky rocketing off the charts. And Clint was holding his breath too which did not help matters.

"You know how this works?" Joe asked him.

Out of habit Clint nodded that he did, but somehow that wasn't convincing enough.

"I have the smallest IV catheter in the hospital. I'm going to ease it just for a second into the vein on the back of your hand-"

"NO!" Clint suddenly screamed, thrusting himself up as if he'd find the strength to jump off the bed entirely. Steve's single hand holding Clint's was enough to keep him from going too far. A warning glance kept the waiting staff from jumping him also.

"Ok, ok, relax!" The Captain said. "Ease up, and sit down now! That's an order, Barton!"

Clint unwillingly followed orders.

Joe came up with a new tactic. "Ok, no hands. Scouts honor. You have two options. Arm, or I'll just jab this thing right into your jugular."

Clint moved to open his mouth but Joe cut him off mid sentence.

"Arm it is. I lied. Well, not really that happens on a rare occasions but this isn't one of them. Since Captain America's got your other arm, that means this one is mine. If you need to mentally get ready, I'll give you a countdown. Ok?"

Clint fluttered a breath he could no longer hold. Somehow his grip tightened even more. His free hand grabbed hold of the side of the bed for dear life. Panic welled in the back of his throat as he desperately tried not to fall apart.

"Barton, you're fine. Ok? You are fine. You are with me. We are in a hospital." Steve chanted beside him.

At a nod from the Captain, Joe began to count. "Five."

"You are not in Budapest. You are with me. Tony is here, Thor is here, and Banner is waiting just outside."

"Four."

"You are not going to die, and this is only going to last a second. Not three days."

"Three."

"When this is over, I promise to give you your bow back."

"Two."

"Don't hold your breath. Just breathe through it. Didn't Banner teach you something? Say your name. What's your name?"

"One."

Clint's entire body tensed as he waited. Joe had grabbed his free hand and allowed Barton to wrap it around Joe's bicep. The position made it easier to watch the veins pop up. And sandwiching Clint's limb between Joe's body and the bed rail made certain the guy was not going to pull away easily.

"Quick bee sting." Joe announced.

"_Agent Clint Barton_." Steve said. "_You move one inch and** I will throttle you so hard** you will be out of commission for six months_!"

Collective breaths were held. The staff leaned in to watch as if in observance of a brain transplant, or the reattachment of a severed limb. Everyone closed in except for the single person in the room that mattered most.

Clint was petrified beyond all sane reason, but the sound of the Captain's voice kept him from really losing it. Somehow it was like Phil was back in his ear piece talking him through even the worst of cases. His mind pressed him back to Budapest when Phil burst through the room with his team from Afghanistan. Some of them still smelled like sand and sweat but they were there for him. Phil leaned over his body, and pulled the first needle out of his fingers. He told him everything was going to be all right.

"Clint? Clint can you hear me?"

Barton cracked open his eyes. Steve was sitting up on his elbows, their hands still locked together.

"Its over." Steve told him.

"Nothing but a rubber straw in you now." Joe said. "Cause once the you know hits the vein we just feed the catheter threw and pull the metal out. Easy as pie. You did good."

"I think I'm gonna throw up." Clint whispered, tasting bile in the back of his throat.

"Well throw up in this." Joe said, quick again on the waste pan retrieval.

About four seconds later, Clint was lunging into the pan and the world again was set into motion. Doctors fussed over what kind of cocktail they were throwing through his veins. Nurses coated half his chest in alcohol and iodine in preparation for surgery, and people began running by with bags of blood. Steve had sat through this charade once already when they pulled Tony and Clint out of the plane wreck. He wasn't keen on watching it all over again.

Clint too let it all happen, but not without his patient advocate Joe standing over him like an overprotective mother hen. He made sure nothing else of the metallic and pointy variety came within forty feet of the bed until Clint was already being wheeled away to the OR. The agent hadn't even been properly sedated yet, but time was now of the essence. It was surgery or die.

For his part, Steve was feeling as much on the mend as Thor. The Asgardian was just regaining control of his fingers and toes. His eyes had been fixed on the scene the whole time but now seemed to shift around and take in the rest of the room. As they were now beyond the critical near death stage, Steve knew it wouldn't be long before the Avengers were hauled off to a private room for the duration of their recovery.

Almost on cue with that little thought came the appearance of Bruce Banner at last. He was wheel chaired through the door by the nurse's station and pushed over to Steve's side. A look of extreme concern was on his face.

"God, Steve, are you all right? I hardly remember a thing, the last I remember you looked like Hell. Someone had blasted your chest open. Is that Thor? Is he all right?"

"I'm doing ok. Him to. Clint's just been rolled off to the operating room. Tony is still with psych waiting for Pepper I'm sure."

Banner rubbed the space between his eyes where his glasses typically rested. "Lovely mess this all turned out to be. You know we could have avoided all of this if that dang Hawk would have just gone to the hospital this morning? Now look at us."

Steve just gave a weak grin. He wasn't in the mood to argue. Actually a nap sounded like a much better plan. Even as the nurses came over and started wheeling his bed off to the ICU with the trail of Thor and Banner not far behind, Roger felt himself fall into the arms of Morpheous and he knew no more.

* * *

And that's all for now:) Natasha makes he "grand" entry in the next chapter- which may be the last too. can't remember right now.


	14. 6:23 PM the following day

**Author note: **FINAL CHAPTER! Thanks for sticking with me in the arduous journey, hope you have loved it!

* * *

**Titanium Hawkeye**

**The Following Day, 6:23 PM**

Clint Barton stretched like a cat waking from a long summer nap. The sun beamed through the window closest to his bed and illuminated his face in the morning hues of August. He knew right away he was not at a hospital. That was always a nice feeling to wake up to. Although his current location could easily be assumed as the Stark Tower, he was definitely _not_ in his room. Again. The last time Clint had this particular situation, he had woken up at the bottom of Tony Stark's bed. The jokes that arouse from that particular wake up call had yet to cease ringing in his ears. But it was always possible this time was not like the others. He could be in Steve's bed. Or Banner's. What really got him moving was the thought that he might be in Natasha's bed.

Clint lunged forward, whipping his head left and right to make sure his latest thought was anything but true. As his head spun left, a sudden stop of fist-meets-jaw knocked it back to the right. Clint's arms windmilled to steady himself, but nothing could stop the sudden shock of momentum that sent him sailing off the side of the bed and crashing to the floor.

He did not mistake the red hair out of the corner of his vision for some other happier bedside watcher. Like Pepper Potts or Stark with a wig.

"_Get up Barton or so help me I will **hurt you worse**_." Natasha snarled.

Clint's freshly operated on liver groaned a in protest, but that was all. He was happy that he didn't have a recreation of the last day's full of agony, but some part of him wondered where the pain had gone like an amputee looking for his missing leg. So much for Natasha taking it easy on the guy straight out of surgery. He did as he was told, pushing himself up to a sitting position with his hands over his head and the bed between them for protection. He said nothing and waited for what would surely be the mother of all wake up calls.

Natasha waisted no time in getting right to her issues. "First Morse, and now some club bimbo? Really? You know, if you needed someone to talk to you could have just asked. You don't need to go sneaking off with Stark and try to get yourself killed. If this is how its going to be, I'm done."

Clint opened his mouth to say something, then his hand dropped a little to touch the strange thing he just realized was on his head. Either way, Natasha pulled out her berretta and his movement stopped.

"Four years. Partners for four years and you still can't tell me crap. I didn't ask about Coulson. I never asked about Loki. I knew that was how you wanted it and I did everything I could to never say a word. But I can't pick up your pieces anymore. It's like I'm not even there and everything we ever had means nothing. So I'm done."

At the sound of Coulson's name, Clint's body spasmed. When she mentioned Loki, He nearly put his fist through the wall. But now that she gave him the opportunity to say something, he was too shocked to form a word. He sat there for a moment trying out different sounds in his lips like "I" and "uh" before he just shook his head a few times and sat forward. "Nat, _what_ are you talking about? You're sounding like some crazy ex girlfriend that I just spent the night cheating against. Ever see super ex girlfriend? Uma Therman? Yeah, I feel like the Luke Wilson right now and you are kinda freaking me out."

Apparently that was not the words she was looking forward to hearing. Natasha grabbed the lamp on the small table beside the bed and chucked it across the bed at him. Then she picked up the table and threw that too. Clint dropped to the floor to avoid it and the ensuing shrapnel from the window being almost busted through. Apparently someone had the forethought of installing a virtual auto glass that was not about to shatter easily. That was good for Clint, because surely the next logical step would be Natasha launching him into open air space.

"What the heck? Nat are you crazy!"

"Don't _Nat_ me!" Natasha screamed. "Why don't you go flying off into the sunset with that new _dame_ you were all over. I'm sure she's more then happy to be your new hero bunny!" Natasha pulled something out of her pocket it and tossed it onto the rumpled bedspread.

Clint leaned up enough to see what it was. It wasn't until he realized what she had that he started to get mad. Not just "she's being a PMS assassin so be angry, but not angry" mad, he was down right furious. He snatched it up just as quickly as she'd thrown it. "This?" he roared. "This is what everything's about! All this "I'm quitting" crap is over her?" Clint shoved the arrow tip necklace over his head and stalked for the door. "You know what, Natasha? Then quit. You don't like the fact that I can do some good and actually save somebody, then I don't want you around anyway. Sorry I disturbed your beauty sleep. Won't ever happen again."

He grabbed the door handle and flung the door inward in order to escape. He couldn't believe Natasha had followed him, let alone seen everything she did and still had no clue what had happened. The one shining light of his entire evening, no, his entire six months of being the Avenger's little scout boy, and here Natasha was flinging it in his face. Let her quit. Let her get out and never come back and just leave him be once and for all.

"Clint!"

He heard the desperation she normally kept out of her voice ringing loud and clear. But it didn't matter. He was bound and determined to ignore her completely and stalk down the halls until he found his room again. What was with the stupid midnight sleep walks anyway? If he kept at it, he was going to have Steve tie him to the bed at night.

"Clint!" Natasha was in the hall now too, running after him.

Still, he ignored her. Instead his hands went up to his head, wondering just what on God's green earth was matting his hair over his head. He assumed it was a shower cap or something similarly stupid that was no doubt a product of Tony Stark. He pushed whatever it was off backwards but found the bottom of it stuck to his shirt like a hood. He stopped for a second to pull at it a few times in a fruitless effort to dislodge it. The trouble was now his necklace was stuck on the outside of it, holding it on.

Natasha had already caught up to him. Without being asked, she disentangled him. it was harder then it looked, but they both stood there, not speaking, while she fussed over him. When at last he was free from feeling choked, she opened her mouth to say something.

"No." Clint cut her off. "Just, don't. You're completely wrong and I don't care what you want to say to get yourself from feeling guilty about it."

Her once docile face screwed into an angry sneer. Two and a half seconds later she had her knife stolen from her back pocket and Clint was pressed up against a wall with the blade against his neck. He had no doubt she would cut him, or kill him. She'd done it before.

"Will you just shut your big stupid mouth for a second. I was going to say I'm sorry!"

Clint glanced down at the knife with only a flick of his eyes. "Some communication skills you've got there."

"What does it even matter to you?" she asked, still angry but with less of a bite.

Barton leaned back against the wall. He was suddenly feeling exhausted. Not an uncommon feeling when waking from anesthesia with Natasha Romanov sitting at your bedside with a mood for death. "Nat," he sighed. "Look. I didn't even know her."

Romanov tensed, but didn't start screaming, or slicing. Both were a bonus.

"She knew me. During the attack in Manhattan it was once of my arrows that saved her life. Me. Not you, or Steve, or even Stark. She heard I was at the club and went out of her way to find me. She wanted to say thank you. Without knowing any of the terrible things I did. She made this for me." He reached up, feeling he was safe to move without being openly filleted. His fingers played with the arrow tip. "This was the arrow that saved her life. If I hadn't been there, she would have died." He chuckled some. "I guess it kinda was like clearing my name. Blotting the red in my ledger with white out."

Natasha slackened her grip some, her eyes falling to his chest. Her free hand joined his as it held the arrowhead.

Clint paused like that. His hand pressed into hers, her breath smelling of mint and strawberries was driving his senses crazy. He'd never noticed how beautiful she smelled before now. Her luscious eyes were focused on the arrowhead that had him so transfixed, as if somehow she could will herself back to that night and banish away all the misconceptions that brought her rage around. Clint resisted his urge to just reach out and pull her closer. For one, there was still a sizable blade between them. But perhaps even more important was the horrid memory that came unbidden to his mind.

The last time they were this close, he was trying to kill her.

The moment was lost to infinity. Clint couldn't stand to be across from her like this any longer. In three easy motions he took advantage of her distraction and stole the knife from her hand. With a twist, the angle of his shoulder, and a well placed shove, it was Natasha who found herself shoved against the wall with Clint standing like an immovable force over her. His left arm was across her neck but the knife hit the floor in the scuffle.

Natasha looked at him admiringly. "Wow. Thought Banner said no rough house."

"Like you ever help me do what Banner says. As I recall it was you who slipped me my program to hack JARVIS." Clint replied coolly.

For a moment her cool façade fell into one reminiscent of a child ousted on its bad behavior. "Don't know what you're talking about."

His face slid toward hers. "Really? How true is that?"

Her lips suddenly bridged the gap and Clint found himself entangled by her snare. He attempted to pull away, worried that this was some dangerous ploy often used the Russian to undermine the men she was after. It probably was at some point. But suddenly it felt so darn good he didn't care if she was faking or not. He allowed her to grab the back of his head and pull him in until hardly a breadth of hair separated their faces from one another.

Hungrily she devoured him as his arm slipped from the strangle hold against the front of her to the small of her back. Romanov, ever the aggressor, pressed him around until again he was back against the wall. They stayed, locked together in each others arms for what seemed like eternity. At least to Clint it was that way. For Natasha, it was just long enough to reach into her back pocket, cock the single action derringer hidden there, and press it to his forehead.

Barton sighed again as he pulled away from her. "Some things never change." He said in the expanse growing between them.

"Some things shouldn't." she told him.

"Nat, if you cared at all about me, then why did you stay away? Nat, you didn't even tell me about Phil. You just, you completely shut down." Clint asked her, point blank. He remembered what they had. He remembered all the good times in their life before Loki. All the mayhem they caused, every waking moment spent sharing each others thoughts, moving through life as if two halves of the same body. Loki had taken more then his body, he had taken away Clint's very life. Six months afterwards, he was still trying to get back everything he had lost. If Natasha was leaving him forever, the what else did he have? Tony? Steve?

He sighed. "You know how I need you. You have always know how I needed you, and you weren't there. Ever. Even after Tony and I came back from Africa, you kept away from me like the plague, why? Make me understand because I just don't."

Natasha's eyes met his again. He knew she had few answers for him. To her all that mattered was the now. Whatever wall had formed between them was slowly crumbling to nothing. Whatever professional relationship they had was being buried beneath it.

"I'm no good at this feely stuff." She told him honestly.

"Then let me be good at it." Clint whispered. His hand reached out, sweeping through the disheveled locks cascading down her shoulder. "Just let me."

"Look, if you are going to shoot the guy, then just get it over with already, ok? Otherwise step back and give me the opportunity to admire my handiwork upright."

Romanov lingered for a moment longer, her body pressed against Clint's before she decided something in her mind and pulled away. The gun slipped into her pocket and she sashayed away, passed the newcomer, to the well traversed hallway.

Tony, still with arm in cast, looked overly pleased at his friend Clint Barton. "You know I figured she was going to shoot you and then walk away. Honestly, its amazing. I don't know how I do it. It fits you perfect. You look amazing. Did I say that already? Well it's true."

Barton shook his head at Stark. After the crazy moment he just shared with Natasha, he was not planning to follow it up with an appearance by Tony. But when did he really have a choice in those matters? He couldn't be too unhappy. It was good to see Tony not wigged out like a feral cat backed into a corner.

"Hey." Clint said. "Psyche have fun with your little brain too?"

Tony cracked a grin. "You know, I think they found me cooler then you. Helps though that I bribed him to fake my clearance with a season pass to the Rangers games. Honestly, who watches the Rangers? Don't even ask me why I have season passes to begin with."

Clint smiled too. "Why do you have season passes to the Rangers?"

"I may or may not have thrown a few octopuses at the Detroit goaltender during a Stanley cup match between the two." Tony threw his good hand in the air. "Or something like that." He strode forward up the hall, scrubbing a hand through the stubble on his chin. The closer he came to Barton, and the ridiculous thing he dressed the guy in, the hard Tony was hit with a sight he had not preppared himself fully for. Tony almost killed Clint. Steve told him that. Seeing the fresh, raw marks ringing his friend's neck were horrid reminders of what Tony was capable of. It took him a moment to retrieve the cool exterior he fought hard to maintain.

Clint saw every transition of emotion. He wasn't an idiot. Neither was he surprised. "We got off topic. I don't know what you want now. So either follow me back to my room or tell me what you want. Or, how about both." As Clint started out after Natasha, Tony caught his shoulder halfway and turned Clint around. Arm in arm, they moved back up the hall to the room Clint had escaped from just a few minutes before.

"Actually, I sort of modified things a little. Had to change your room to someplace else. Can you believe Elsa actually lit your lamp on fire? Then your bed? I wanted to kill her, but Pepper suggested just changing up your digs, so we did that first. You can thank Banner that you are even mobile right now. Most guys don't just hop out of bed after major surgery. Someone convinced the docs not to put you on morphine again. Something about PMS or PTSD or something. Banner's got you on his own cocktail I swear, he got it from this half Jackie Chan looking guy in an Indian restaurant. It was epic."

As Tony spoke, they were already reentering the room Clint had earlier mistaken for Natasha's. Now he saw all the things anger helped him miss. The dresser in the corner, obviously masculine. And the passports (all of his passports) lined up along the top beside his wallet. His bow case leaning in the corner beside his bed. Over top of his bed hung his bow itself and an empty quiver. Clint walked over and read the yellow Post It note stuck to the wall just beneath both.

_Promised I'd give your bow back, didn't say anything about arrows. Fell better soon, and maybe you'll earn them._

_-Steve_

Clint smirked at that, crumbled the note and tossed it in the bin beside his bed. Across from his bed was the wall of windows that had filtered to morning sunlight over his sleeping body. It wasn't a bad view at all, he could see over half the city from the height of Stark Tower. Not to mention the new addition just beyond the obviously padlocked sliding door.

"Smashed on already. Nice job. Oh yeah, the locks were Banner's idea." Tony explained. "When he says so, he'll take them off and you can enjoy the personal Hawk nest. I even gave you a telescope. Well, technically Pepper did, but its all my money so semantically speaking—"

"Tony?"

Stark looked at him.

"Thanks. You can shut up now."

That only made Tony beam with even more pride. He walked over and shoved a hand down on the bed to display the comfort (or lack of) for Clint's benefit. "Complete with two virtual box springs and a few sheets and you have the most awful back brace called a bed in the world. Elsa insisted."

Clint was too overwhelmed by it all to continue smiling. He sank against one of the windows, and watch Tony with a mixture of emotions playing against him. "Good old Elsa." He managed to say.

"Yeah, awesome, lovely. I think she stole thirty dollars from your wallet. And, you have yet to remark how much you love your outfit, can I just say that out loud? So . . . what do you think?"

Tony paused long enough for Clint's heart to leap into his throat. He remembered in the back of his mind how hard it was to get the strange shower cap off his head and couldn't figure out why it was attached to his shirt in the first place. Now, he began to understand. Tony was in "creation" mode. Who knew what he decided to dress Clint in while the assassin was recovering from surgery. Clint rushed to the attached bathroom and before he realized what he was doing he already had no choice left.

His hand flicked on the light and suddenly Clint was faced with the mirror image of himself. The sight almost caused him to pass out. It wasn't the costume, the gaudy neon purple and grey number Tony no doubt modeled stitch for stitch after the cartoon show they sat together and watched. Even the half skirt and cowl were complete to his and JARVIS's astounding standards. But that wasn't the most impact. It was Clint's own reflection. The same reflection he had avoided seeing for almost six months straight. He leaned over the sink, suddenly feeling physically ill. He thought he may even throw up but he couldn't move toward the toilet.

Tony had moved from the bed to the bathroom doorway to watch the great reaction unfold. But when it was obvious things were beginning to spiral out of control he suddenly lunged forward and offered a supportive arm around Clint's waist.

"Hey, buddy, you all right?" he questioned. "Need me to get you over to the porcelain throne or something? Look, its not that bad—"

"I feel like I'm gonna pass out." Clint groaned.

"Well, don't do that here, hold on. Let me get you out that-a-way. Move your feet."

"I thought—" Clint paused, he swallowed hard, drinking in the image of himself as Tony guided him away. "I thought . . ."

"Thought what?" Tony asked. They were already at the bed. He helped Clint to sit on it and held his shoulder's up in Stark's hands.

"I . . ." Clint tried desperately to gather his thoughts, but the image of his face kept flashing through his mind. His face, the look in his eyes, the blue crystal that once belonged to Loki now faded to nothing, the scar—

Tony tapped Clint's face. The last thing he wanted was the guy to pass out because of his wardrobe choice. "Hey, what were you thinking? That purple looks good on you? Cause that's what I think too. In fact, you should wear it every day."

Clint shook his head, avoiding hyperventilation, but just barely. "I thought it was worse." He finely got out. "I thought it was so much worse. I thought I was done. Down and out. I haven't looked at myself since Loki. I never wanted to. I thought, you know, I would just still see him there. Hiding behind my eyes."

Tony pulled Clint's head up until they were looking at each other. "Hey, you thought he was still there? That we could see him every time we saw you?"

Ashamed, Clint nodded.

Tony closed his eyes and sadly shook his head side to side. "God, Clint, explains all the missing mirrors in your room. Why didn't you just say something? I would have told you the truth. Hell, Steve would have. You two have been buddy buddy since the other night."

"I was just so worried," Clint said, almost in a daze. "I didn't want to look. Not with what I thought I'd see."

Tony sat beside him, taking up the free slot on the box spring that was more granite slab then actual bed. There were plenty of things he could say, or try to. But half of them weren't worth the breath it took to get the words out. Eventually, after sitting beside each other for long enough Clint was the one to break the silence.

"Some pair we make." He muttered. The fingers on his left hand were subconsciously picking at the nails on his right.

Tony was shivering, saying nothing. His mind too had dragged him back to the subway tunnel and the dark memories that trapped him there.

When the door slammed open again, Clint leaped to his feet and pulled his bow off the wall. Tony fussed with his bracelet and half a wall's worth of windows blew out to make room for his Iron Man suit.

Standing in the doorway was Thor and Steve. Both had a devilish look on their faces and were obviously seeking out some camaraderie to join whatever merrymaking they already had in the works. The sight of having disturbed Clint and Tony's bonding threw Steve into even more of a guffaw. Thor didn't understand the joke, but he gave a middle finger to the success of them destroying the room. He should have given a thumbs up, but Tony may have not taught him which finger was appropriate for what situation.

"Sorry, sorry!" Steve exclaimed. "But you gotta see what just came on."

"If it isn't the latest exploits of that blasted Reed Richards funding another international flop, I really don't care." Tony reported. He was already in his Iron Man suit, but lifted the shield over his face for posterity. Regardless of his protest, he was already following after Steve who had bounded down the hall again.

After taking a minute to steady his pounding heart, Clint found himself unable to be excused from the party. Thor literally walked over and without much warning, lifted him up and hoisted him towards the living room. After a few kicks against the side of his head, Clint was able to convince the Asgardian to drop him or else suffer his wrath. It wasn't surprising that Thor began to laugh not unlike the disbelief shown by the Hulk just a day ago.

Rather then injure his friend's pride, Thor did drop him. But another thought occurred to him just as quickly and he could not prevent from mentioning it. "Clinton of Barton, I must applaud you on the remarkable garment adorning you."

Oh yeah, Clint thought. In the wake of his being bombarded with his own reflection he'd forgotten all about that.

"Thanks. By the way, you do know my name is not _'Clinton of Barton' _right? It's Clint Barton. That's it. I'm not _of_ anything."

Thor boomed again. "Ah, You are too modest of your heritage my friend. Barton must be a mighty land to produce men as you. Embrace that lineage."

Clint sighed. He was not winning this.

They had just entered the sunken living room across from the kitchen. Banner was sitting there, urging them to hush and listen as Steve and Tony hurried to sit. The television was going and on the screen was a highlight of the bar they had all decided to crash the night before. A news reporter was doing a bit piece about the unexpected visitors that had the local watering hole hopping. After the quick introduction to the scene about to be witnessed, the scene changed to a look inside the club. Various viral videos were recounting the night of drinking. Someone caught Tony's beer chug on camera. Steve was doing something that may have been an original foxtrot with three girls at once. Thor was balancing chicks cheerleader style.

Fun and games aside, the reporter was quick to mention the club had been temporarily shut down until further notice. A sudden outbreak of bacterial meningities was to blame, but by the look of all the men in SHIELD suits, it was probably more something to do with Thor leaving his hammer behind. In fact, as the cameraman panned around, they distinctly caught a glimpse of Nick Fury standing right beside Mjolnir. Unmistakably, the director himself reached out to the hammer and gave it a tug.

Like bowling pins the men knocked back in their seats as a host of hysteria filled the air. Even as the news changed to some other random story, they continued to hang off the couches and hold their sides lest their guts burst sideways. Clint was thanking heaven for Banner's awesome drug cocktail.

"I suppose I have left Mjolnir too long in its repose." Thor admitted. "My friends, I must depart momentarily to retrieve it."

Steve, still biting back his laughing, halted him. "Hang out a sec, I'll grab my jacket and come out with you. I feel like going out."

Tony barked. "What? And the other night wasn't bad enough? Anyone else kinda forget that I have almost been killed twice now by Steve's ancient bad guys?"

Steve shrugged. "Didn't invite you to go. Stay here, be safe and sound. I'll pick you up a doggy bag."

Thor snorted. "Dog." He said. "I must discover what this dog is. I have heard that they are edible."

"That's a hot dog, and it's not related to pet dogs or doggy bags. Just go stand on the roof and call mojo back or something like you always do." Stark replied.

"No, we're going out." Steve said definitively. "Come if you want. Bring the suit."

"I'll make you a suit!" Tony said, thrusting his way out of the couch.

The threat hung in the air between them, and the three barreled out of the room as quickly as they'd come together. Bruce waited just slightly longer. His attention rested on Clint for a long time. He was regarding the man's physical appearance, as always. It was slightly uncomfortably sitting under his gaze, but Clint bore the brunt of it. He had developed some kind of link with the guy. Maybe not Banner exactly, even though the guy was proving to be a stand up ally. Clint for some reason preferred the Hulk. He wasn't sure why. Half the time the big green monster was more irritating then helpful but that was Clint's whole life.

"Hey, thanks for helping out the other night." Clint said, ending Banner's silent inspection.

Bruce shrugged. "I wish I was a little more, well, probably should have waited before tearing up the room so much."

"Nah, I get it. But Hulk. I mean, he was a jerk. But so am I sometimes. He's a handful too, but he did a lot of good. Don't think I could have done anything without him." Clint explained in a rambling sort of way. Half of what he said was sure to have made some sense and that's all he needed.

Bruce gave him a lopsided grin. He leaned forward, patted Clint's knee a couple times and stood. "Well, I'm taking off to baby sit those three. Don't need a repeat of recent events. That stupid defense summit Tony keeps getting kept away from was postponed another month. At least we can rest easy until then."

Clint scoffed a little, but nodded his head. "Just in time for me to get my arrows back."

"Yeah, well do me and the other guy a favor and quit pushing yourself. I'm getting a little tired of picking you off the sidewalk with a spatula. Don't let her keep you up all night either."

Bruce's final cryptic comment was lost to the air as he rushed to catch up with the boys. Clint turned around on the couch to watch the guys' retreat, all the while wondering to himself just what Bruce was talking about. He didn't have to wonder long. Natasha was standing in the doorway Bruce just left through. This time, there was zero foreplay with knives or derringers. She was in her skin tight black suit. The zipper was pulled down low, too low for her comfort or mission functionality.

Clint gulped down the sudden taste of mint and strawberries that appeared unbidden in his mouth.

"So." Natasha said, the sexy Russian accent pulling her words into twists of lust. "Heard you like Mockingbirds."

Clint looked up and down, really slow in case somehow she left him with that image alone and nothing more. "Actually, Russian double agents are much more alluring to me."

She swayed over, one long leg following behind the other. She was standing only a foot away. Nothing but sofa fabric and clothing separated them.

"Hell, Nat, never knew you cared. Really. I'm being totally honest here and—"

One gloved hand cut through the air and pressed his lips closed. two velvet lips parted as she whispered. "Shut up and pull on the cowl."

. . . _you shoot me down,_

_but I won't fall_

_I am titanium_

The End

* * *

YAY! end of book 2! hope you loved the ride. haven't started book 3 yet, but i've been thinking it over in my mind. so that's something at least.


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